When Cas can't help
by SheyRicci
Summary: Dean calls for Cas when neither he nor Bobby can help Sam but Castiel finds he can't completely heal Sam either.
1. Chapter 1

I made up the problem, the issue and the cure/answer….

Bear with me, ya'all!

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><p>Dean slanted his eyes sideways, glancing over at his brother as he tried to decide whether he was asleep or merely slouched against the door with his eyes closed. Sam had grown silent some ten minutes ago and when Dean jerked the wheel, making the car swerve, his head rolled on the window but didn't come off the glass. So, asleep then.<p>

Dean fiddled with the radio, searching for a clear station, the music merely background noise that no longer held his attention. The last month or so had been mostly quiet and uncomplicated; no one had chased them, tried to trap them or attempted to kill them. The few hunts that had found them had been dealt with simply and quickly. Sam had been agreeable and content; he hadn't argued with Dean or outright did the opposite of what Dean wanted.

Not even when Dean had told him he was taking a vacation. He'd offered Sam the car and told him to come back and pick him up. Sam had shrugged, and said he'd go with him without asking where they were going or why. All Dean wanted was some down time and he didn't mind having Sam with him, he wasn't what Dean wanted to escape from and avoid. The last several months had been hectic, stressful and emotional. They could both use some time to deal.

Dean's definition of vacation meant renting a cabin in the hills of North Dakota without electricity, phones, an internet connection or TV. There was no cell phone reception either, one had to go into town six miles down the road and use the payphone at the local general store. The one-room cabin consisted of a sofa, coffee table and two arm chairs arranged near the fireplace. Across the room were a stove and a table with two chairs. Along the back wall was a double bed. There was a small bathroom with indoor plumbing though the hot water wasn't very hot or plentiful. A fire in the stove in the small kitchen heated a tank of water that fed the shower and kitchen sink.

Sam was sleeping on the couch, and good thing he hadn't complained 'cause he wasn't even supposed to be there.

Two days of rustic living had been all Dean managed before he'd headed to the nearest city to catch a movie. Sam hadn't minded, he could pick up some new magazines and check the web while Dean satisfied his coffee addiction at a local coffee shop that offered free Wi-Fi.

They were on their way back to the cabin and Dean decided to stop for dinner. Sam knew when the car stopped and he didn't need to crack his eyes open to know they were parked in front of a restaurant. He didn't move, hoping Dean would decide to leave him alone and go in and eat by himself. Truth be told, he wasn't hungry and didn't much feel like moving, wondering how close they were to the cabin. If anything, he would be happy to crawl into the back seat and lay down.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was quiet, Sam waited for the nudge in the shoulder that never came, letting one eye slit just enough to see what Dean was doing. He was playing with his phone. "You awake?" by the time Dean finally turned to look directly at Sam, both eyes were once again, closed.

Dean hesitated, not sure whether to wake him or not. It wasn't unusual for Sam to sleep in the car; they both got plenty of sleep while the other drove, but Sam usually woke up on his own when the car stopped. Dean sat for a minute then decided to leave Sam be, got out of the car and went into the restaurant. Sam sighed, he'd wanted to be left alone, and now that he was, his feelings were hurt that Dean would just leave him. There'd been a time when Dean would have teased him awake to go in with him. Well….shit.

Dean looked up when Sam slid into the booth opposite the table and gave him a cheery grin. "Well, hey there sleepy-head, you hungry? I just ordered." Dean waved at the waitress who made her way over. "This is Darlene."

"Cudda woke me up." Sam said grumpily, reaching for Dean's glass. "Coke?" he made a face.

"If I had, you wudda bitched that I did." Dean said easily. "So? You ordering?" he held out a menu, Sam finally took it and ordered soup. He wasn't hungry, but perhaps if he ate something, he'd feel better or at least be in a better mood. He should have stayed in the car; he didn't want to talk or be entertained and could only hope Dean was observant enough to notice his aloofness. Dean didn't try to carry on a conversation, nor did he push Sam to reveal how he felt or ask him what his problem was.

"What?" Sam's attention was caught and his head came up. "Huh?" he may have disliked Dean's choice of soda, but he hadn't given the glass back, prompting Dean to order another to replace it. He gave Dean a thorough visual go-over, searching for any physical signs that would tell him what Dean had said.

"I said you look ready to fall asleep waiting for your soup." Dean offered him a fry, he shook his head. "Head hurt?"

"No, why?" he looked around the diner, then looked at his watch. Nearly 8:30. Later then he'd thought but still early. Dean had mentioned hitting a bar before returning to the cabin.

"Cause again, you look like shit, what's up with you anyway? You've been a downer for a week now, cranky as all hell. You didn't get hurt on our last hunt, did you?

"No, get off my back." he snapped. Head lowered, he missed the look to cross Dean's face. "Sorry." he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, realizing he had bitten his brother's head off. "I dunno, just tired."

"Get you some Midol." Dean muttered. "Get you back to the cabin and put your ass to bed, cranky ass." he was irritated, both his tone and his look and he didn't bother to try to hide either. "I'm being flat-out honest here Sam; I think you need to take a daily nap."

Sam shrugged. "Sure, whatever."

Dean hated when Sam went silent, hated being blown off but let it go so he could eat his meal while it was hot. Sam's soup came with a side of garlic bread and Sam picked at it, eating slowly, getting up to go to the bathroom before he was even half way done. Dean got to flirting with Darlene and didn't realize thirty minutes had passed until she made a comment asking if Sam had left.

"Huh." Dean glanced at his watch. "Great." he left enough cash on the table for the bill and to cover the tip and went back to the men's room. "Sam?" he pushed the door open, finding two stalls, two urinals and no Sam. Panic hit him first; Sam had up and disappeared on him before. Then anger, figuring Sam had gone out to the car without bothering to say anything. "I swear, I'm gonna kick his ass." he muttered, turning around to head out to the car, the door nearly closed behind him when he heard his name called.

"Dean?" a knocking came from one of the stalls. "Dean?" his name was said again, a little stronger, and a little louder.

"What? Sam? What the hell?" he pushed open the door to the handicapped stall. Sam sat on the floor, back against the wall, elbows on his drawn knees, hands supporting his forehead. "Sammy?"

Sam looked up, eyes glassy and though he focused on his brother, it was as if he looked right through him. His face was flushed as Dean squatted down on his haunches next to him, snapping his fingers in Sam's face. Dean easily placed the look on Sam's face. He'd seen his brother after vomiting often enough, whether it be the flu or being hung over or some other ailment, to recognize the signs.

"Why are you sitting on the floor? It's disgusting Sam." he glanced towards the toilet, either Sam had flushed or he hadn't been sick. "Man, get up."

"I don't feel good." he pushed his hair off his forehead, palm slick with sweat. Dean got up to wet some paper towels with cold water. "Mmmmmm."

"Come on, get off the damn floor." Dean hauled him to his feet and let him sit on the toilet, pushing him forward to keep his head down and pressing the wet towels to the back of his neck. "What the fuck dude?"

"Dunno, bad garlic?" he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, shivering. He fought the urge to lean towards the security Dean represented. Dean wouldn't understand Sam's desire to be close and though Dean wouldn't leave him, he wouldn't tolerate Sam clinging to him either.

"Okay, the bill's paid, let's get outta here and get back to the cabin."

"Thought you wanted to go to the bar." Sam weakly protested. He wanted to lay down, preferably in the dark but if Dean insisted on stopping off at a bar for a beer, he wouldn't argue.

"Not an option now dude, you need to lay down and I really don't want you pukin' in the car."

"I'm ok, can play a game of pool with you." he offered half-heartedly, he made to gain his feet then sat where he was. "Maybe not." he lowered his head and thumbed his closed eyelids. "I'll take a nap, maybe lay down on the backseat, you'll find some company."

"And then what?" Sam let Dean pull him to his feet even though he didn't want to get up. "You spend a cold night sleeping in the car?"

"Sorry." Sam sighed, letting himself be led out to the car. "Can leave me here, I'll find a motel and you can go do whatever, you can pick me up in a couple of days."

Dean stopped and let him go so suddenly that Sam lost his balance and fell against a parked car. He reached out with his hands to brace his fall. Had the car not been there, he would have hit the pavement.

"What the _hell_ goes through your mind?" Dean kicked his toe against a tire on a nearby car. "We're past all that Sam! Christ, I wouldn't leave you alone in a motel in a no-name town in a state you can't name even if you hadn't been sitting on the floor of a public bathroom puking into a toilet." he grabbed the back of Sam's jacket and hauled him away from the support of the car, holding on even as Sam twisted around to face him. "_We _are going back to the cabin and _we _are staying until _you_ feel better." he gave Sam a shove forward. "Can you for once, just be honest with me? I don't ask for much, not anymore." he muttered, shaking his head. "Christ, think I'd learn, I mean, what's it gonna take to get it through my head."

Sam gathered himself and broke free from Dean's grasp. Sudden anger gave him the strength to stand on his own and face his brother even if he swayed a bit unsteadily. His arms pin wheeled until they found support on a nearby truck bed.

"I'm trying to do what you want Dean! I told you I didn't feel good. I didn't let you leave me in the bathroom. What the hell do you want from me? I offered to go with you, I offered to let you go without me, I offered to stay in the car. I don't know anything else to offer you so stop yelling at me." yelling made him dizzy and short of breath.

"I'm not yelling." Dean got out between clenched teeth. "You are. I just don't understand how the hell you think these days. I didn't ask you to come with me Sam, you asked to come. I just wanted a couple of days alone. Spend time fishing or rowing a boatand swimming. Go on a hike to look for a freaking eagle, just have the opportunity to do _nothing_. No cell phone, no web, no newspaper, no omens, no signs, no nothing. I've begged you in the past to give me that and you … well, you didn't." he rubbed at his forehead, eyes squeezing shut as he winced. "I know it's a lot to ask, but dammit I can't keep doing this without taking some time for my sanity Sam. Maybe you don't like it that I decided to do this whether you agreed or not, I don't know, but either deal with it and stay with me or go away and leave me alone."

Still needing the support of the truck, Sam let him walk away. Dean wouldn't go far nor would he stay mad for long. He'd never before walked away from the life he led, not as long as Sam had been alive. Sure, Dean had asked him in the past to take a trip, go anywhere and forget their worries and concerns for a short while, but when Sam said no, Dean hadn't made plans to go without him like he had this time. Dean was right; Sam didn't know what to make of that.

"Are you coming?" Dean called impatiently. He was ready to hit the road and eager to reach the cabin. He wanted to take his boots off, put his feet up, nurse a beer and read the latest issue of Guns and Ammo; not argue in the cold in a parking lot.

Sam sighed, fingers laced together with his hands holding to the back of his neck. "Yeah." he started to walk towards the car when a loud buzzing engulfed the immediate area around his head. Before he could open his mouth to call out, he hit the pavement, out cold before he finished falling.

Dean didn't hear him; he reached the car and got in, turning the engine over and flipping the radio on. He expected Sam to open the passenger door, rolling down the window to yell for him when a minute passed and he didn't show, frustration lacing his voice.

"Sam?" he called for a third time. "Sam? Dammit Sam! Come on!" he got out of the car, leaving it running and started back to where he had last seen Sam. "What the….." he ran the last few feet, sliding to a stop on his knees beside his brother. "Sam…. Sammy….hey! Sam,…..come on here kiddo." he gently shifted Sam's head from the ground to his knees, fingers combing through Sam's hair to find the source of blood that trickled down the left side of his face. "Sam?" he pulled a flashlight from his pocket and found the source of the bleeding, a cut over his left eyebrow. Dean inspected the wound, trying to determine what had taken Sam down.

"Ow!" Sam hissed, raising a hand to swat weakly at Dean's. "Mmmm, stop." his breath caught as forced his eyes open. "Don't." the rough probing fingers felt like he was repeatedly being stabbed with a needle.

"Ok, ok, relax." finding dirt and gravel imbedded in his skin, Dean was satisfied that Sam hadn't been shot or attacked; he'd simply cracked his head when he'd fallen. "Hey, lay still for a bit, car's warming up." he held Sam down when he gathered himself to sit up, moving the beam of light up and down the length of Sam's body.

Sam wanted to sit up and the longer Dean kept him down, the more agitated he got. He'd wanted to stay down in the bathroom and Dean had forced him to get up and now that he wanted to get up, Dean was forcing him to stay down. Sam's fingertips swiped at the blood that had made it to his mouth, wiping the back of his hand across his cheek. "Let me up." he muttered, if Dean followed the beam of light with his hand, he was gonna get punched.

"Let it bleed." Dean forced his hand down. "It's not deep, won't even need stitches. You ok? The world spinning?" he let Sam sit up, ready to stop him if he tried to stand, but Sam decided he was quite happy to sit for a bit. Suddenly he didn't feel so good anymore and he attributed that to having sat up. He swallowed hard; Dean's hovering no longer so annoying.

"No, and don't even hold up a finger and ask me how many." he fell back on being defensive. He'd already freaked his brother out by getting sick in a public bathroom and passing out in the parking lot; he didn't dare add to that by seeking comfort. His shoulder ached; his hands had been behind his neck when he'd hit the ground, so he must have fallen hard on his shoulder before cracking his head.

"Tell me you at least tripped." Dean cracked a grin. "Over your too large feet if nothing else." he moved back, giving Sam room to gain his feet. He held a hand out to rise with Sam but he didn't offer to take it, not ready to stand up.

"No." San shook his head, stopping with a wince and a moan. "Shit, stupid Sam." he whispered to himself, fingers pushing against his eyebrow. He started to lie down but stopped when he saw his brother's reaction. Dean's grin faded and he studied Sam with such a serious look that Sam realized he had voiced the words out loud.

"Dude, did you faint? Seriously? Like, you know, a girl? You fainted?" Dean stared at his brother with wide eyes. "What the hell, Sam?"

"I dunno Dean, guess so. Can you wait and make fun of me later?" he bit his lip. He wanted to wipe the blood from his face, wanted to hold and massage his aching shoulder, wanted to lie down and hold ice to his pounding head. What he didn't want to do was deal with Dean.

"Since when do you faint?' Dean demanded, taking the hand Sam held out and pulling him to his feet. Sam's weight wasn't distributed, making his movements jerky and un-coordinated. He let Sam lean against him for support, not wanting to risk him taking another dive to the hard ground. "Come on." once at the car, Dean handed Sam a clean towel to wipe his face and hold against his head. "Just hold it lightly, don't press it, you're gonna have to clean out the dirt and gravel once we get to the cabin."

Sam was quiet, noticing Dean had said, 'you'. He took the towel and wiped the blood from his face, then folded it over and held it over the still bleeding cut. His left arm soon protested its raised position and he switched hands with a grunt of discomfort. Dean glanced at him but said nothing, Sam wasn't acting like he usually did when he was hurt or sick and Dean wasn't sure how to respond to his behavior.

"Good to go?" Dean waited for the nod of agreement, and pulled out.

Sam followed Dean into the cabin and headed straight for the bathroom. He didn't feel good and the longer he stayed vertical, the more nauseated he felt. He closed the door behind him, convinced he was going to lose the contents of his stomach for the second time in less than an hour.

Dean started a fire, both in the fireplace and in the stove. He heard the unmistakable sounds of Sam's vomiting and tried to decide whether the nausea was the result of the whack on the head or the earlier soup. He should have followed his instinct and ignored Sam's protests and checked for signs of a concussion when he'd had Sam flat on his back.

"Hey." he looked up when Sam finally came out of the bathroom. He'd cleaned his face and headed for his duffel, digging for the clothes he usually slept in. "Nuh-uh, come over here." Dean pulled out a chair from the table and patted the seat. "Need to let me see."

"I'm ok." Sam didn't move, unsure whether to curl up on the sofa or obey Dean. "I washed up." he pulled his shirt out of the bag, tossed it aside and continued to search for his pants. All he wanted to do was curl up in the blankets and let himself go to sleep.

"That wasn't a suggestion Sam, sit your ass down." Dean growled. "Need to see if you have a concussion, determine if getting knocked on the head is what made you si….ck." he frowned as he completed his sentence, seeing Sam's shoulder for the first time since reaching the cabin. "What the _hell_ did you do?" he demanded angrily.

"What?" perplexed, Sam looked around the room to see what had pissed his brother off this time.

"What? What do you mean what? That, your shoulder Sam. What the hell did you do to your shoulder? When?"

Sam twisted his head then contorted his upper body in a futile attempt to view his back. Giving up, he walked over to the mirror and turned his back. "Huh." he flexed his muscle, rolling his shoulder, hunching his back, not able to hide the wince when his body protested.

"How, Sam." Dean demanded, peroxide and gauze held forgotten in his hands. "Jesus Christ!" he tossed the bottle and dropped the gauze, and stalked over to Sam. "Anything to say?" he watched Sam try to work his shirt over his head with one arm. He knew by the way Sam averted his eyes and kept his gaze cast down that he didn't know what to say. "When." he bit out. "That has to hurt, Sam. Let me see."

"When I fell." he found his pants, pulled them on and tied the strings. He looked between the chair and the sofa, no more sure what to do now then ten minutes ago. "It's just sore, no big…..ow….quit poking."

"When you fell? When, tonight? You seriously expect me to believe that? Sam, come on, stop treating me like I'm stupid. I've had enough of that from you." he picked up the bottle of peroxide and kicked the chair. "Sit."

"Dean, I'm telling you the truth, I landed on my shoulder when I fell." he sat down on the chair facing Dean, resigned to suffering through his brother's attempts at doctoring. It was obvious Dean wasn't taking his word that he had cleaned the cut himself.

"Less than an hour ago? Yeah right." Dean said scornfully. "You expect me to believe that?"

"Yeah." Sam said simply, eyes searching his brother's face for understanding. Dean poured peroxide on the gauze and started to clean the cut on Sam's forehead. He wasn't exactly gentle, but he wasn't rough. Sam had done a well enough job but he felt better seeing for himself that Sam had indeed been thorough.

"You're serious." Dean searched for a band-aide large enough to cover the wound, settling for taping gauze over it instead. "Sam, come on, that bruise and the swelling are too severe to have happened an hour ago."

"Dean, I swear to you, my shoulder was fine this morning, no bruise, no swelling, no pain, nothing." he got up, kept his unsteady balance from his brother's notice and crawled over the arm of the sofa and laid down. "Can I sleep now?"

Dean rubbed his hands over his face; he was tired, ready for bed, and racking his brain to recall when Sam may have gotten hurt. He didn't know what to make of it and he wanted the night to sleep on it before addressing it. He approached Sam with a flashlight and ordered him to look at him. His eyes were focused and didn't react negatively to the flashlight so Dean deemed it safe to give him some ibuprofen and let him go to sleep.

"You good? I'm gonna go grab a hot shower."

"Um…..Dean?"

Dean frowned at the tentative way Sam said his name, as though he was afraid of the response he would get. "What, Sam?" he detoured to hang over the sofa. "Go to sleep."

"Yeah, I'm gonna." he yawned. "I'm good." he said finally, deciding what he wanted wasn't worth pissing Dean off over. It'd been a moment of weakness that had him calling to his brother anyway. He'd rolled over and felt his back twinge in protest and his automatic response had been to seek his brother and ask for his help.

"You need something?" Dean asked impatiently, anxious for a hot shower in the hopes it would relieve some of the tension he couldn't shake. "Sam?"

"I'm…ok." he meant to let it go, knowing Dean would go if he said nothing but his tongue seemed to obey his desires, not his intentions. "Um…sorry… but….. I..… could….you….?" he licked his lips then sighed. "Ice?" he'd thought about getting up and going after it himself but when he'd lifted his head from the pillow, nausea had convinced him lying flat was the better idea.

The cabin was at a campground, and the cabin rentals had full use of the amenities offered to the campers: restrooms with showers, ice, vending machines, Laundromat and propane refills. Anything else could be purchased from the general store six miles away. That Sam knew that and wasn't willing to fetch his own ice and yet was reluctant to ask made him feel like crap. That he hadn't thought Sam would benefit from ice made him feel like an ass. That Sam had asked despite his fear of what Dean's response would be, told Dean he was in more discomfort and pain then he had admitted to.

"Be right back." Dean retrieved a bowl from a cupboard over the sink and headed out to the ice machine that sat next to the vending machines so he bought two bottles of ginger ale and headed back to their room. He made an ice-bag out of a towel and offered it to Sam who only had eyes for the ginger ale.

"Sorry, no crackers." Dean poured some soda into a cup and handed it to Sam who raised himself up with his elbow resting on the cushion to take it. Long as he kept his eyes locked on one thing, the room didn't spin and his stomach was settled.

"S'ok. You can get some tomorrow at the store." he spoke without thinking, used to Dean getting him what he wanted. He lowered his eyes, hand shaking slightly as he took a drink as he realized what he'd said.

"Sure." Dean said easily in a tone Sam hadn't heard him use with him in ages. A tone that was tolerant and supportive, a tone not heard in so long that it brought tears to Sam's eyes. If Dean noticed, he paid no attention, taking the empty glass and setting it aside when Sam refused a refill. "Need anything else?" Dean asked quietly, all attitude and impatience gone. Sam didn't get sick often and he never faked an injury being worse than it was.

Sam eased down, trying to pull the blanket up over his shoulder so he could settle the towel of ice on his back.

He let go of the towel when he felt Dean's hand on his, letting him situate both the blanket and the ice. Dean sat on what served as a coffee table, facing his brother, watching him as he fell asleep, knowing when he was no longer in a state of consciousness by his even breathing.

"So, what the hell?" Dean sighed and went to take his shower.

***000***`

When Sam woke, the room was quiet and bright with sunshine. The curtains were open and Dean was asleep in the armchair, feet up on the coffee table. Rolling to his back, he decided he didn't feel so good. The ice slid off his back and he picked it, taking note it was ice and the towel was dry; Dean must have changed it.

He pushed himself and looked around the room for a clock, nudging Dean's feet to the floor. Wow, Dean had made no attempt to clean up; clothes, books, weapons, first aid kit, pop bottles and vending machine snacks, along with the computer and iPod's were strewn across every available surface. It never ceased to amaze him the short amount of time it took Dean to create a mess.

"Hey." Dean rubbed eyes that were gritty from little sleep. Sam frowned as Dean blinked open swollen, red-rimmed eyes as he sat up in the chair and stretched. "How you feeling?"

"Why were you sleeping in the chair?" Sam asked instead of answering. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

Dean shrugged. "Yeah. So, you feeling any better?"

"Any hot water for a shower?" he poured soda into a glass, gingerly rotating his shoulder to test how it responded, grimacing when it protested the slight movement. "Ow, man, mmmm." how hard had he fallen? Christ, he'd been tossed, thrown, pitched, pushed and dropped harder than he had fallen and never had his body felt like it did now.

"Yeah, fire's been going all night." Dean wasn't going to be ignored a third time. "Last time, how do you feel?"

"Lousy, did you get any sleep last night?" he countered.

"Couldn't sleep." Dean said evasively. He hoped Sam didn't push because he had no intentions of saying anything more on the subject. Sam hadn't been at all settled. He'd tossed and turned and muttered and groaned until Dean had gotten out of bed and crossed the room to make sure nothing was attacking the kid on the sofa. Giving up any hope of a decent nights rest in a comfortable bed, Dean had pulled a chair close to the sofa and gotten as comfy as he could to spend the remainder of the night. "Got up every couple hours or so to keep the fires going"

"Wait, why'd you let me sleep so late?" Sam frowned. A chair pulled up to the sofa and his feet resting on the table didn't spell out 'accidentally fell asleep here'.

"Cause how do you really feel Sam? You look like shit, what the hell else are we gonna do today?"

"Whatever." he muttered, pushing the blanket aside and getting to his feet. "I'll shower, then we can go get something to eat."

"Sure, hey, do me a favor?" Dean tossed Sam an unloaded shot gun. "Catch." Sam reacted instinctively, reaching out with both hands to catch it, his right arm cooperated, his left didn't and the gun hit the floor. "Thought so." Dean walked over to pick the gun up. "Can you raise your hand over your head?"

"I doubt it." huh, he must really look like hell if Dean could tell how he felt just by looking at him.

"Will you let me see?" Dean asked quietly. "Ice should have brought the swelling down."

Sam crossed his hands over his belly to take hold of the hem of his shirt and pull it up over his head. He got no further than lifting the shirt to his chest when pain flared down his back so sharply he stumbled, reaching out with his right hand to stop himself from falling. Once he was steady, he pulled the shirt off with his right hand, turning to let Dean see his back. His left arm was all but useless; he had strength in his hand, but couldn't raise his arm.

"Ok, that's it." Dean tossed the gun onto the sofa, curbing his desire to throw it against the wall. "The truth Sam, and this time, don't lie to me. I am so sick of you keeping shit from me."

Sam's eyes went wide and he turned his head to stare at his brother with a slack jaw, stunned that Dean was mad, freaking pissed was more accurate and he had no idea why. Dean's hands were fisted by his sides and the look he leveled on Sam made the younger brother step away and put distance between them.

"Oh no you don't, you aren't running away from me either." Dean hissed, he started after Sam but stopped when he realized Sam was only going to look in the mirror so he could see for himself. Sam simply raised his right hand to hold his shoulder, unable to say anything in his defense. "So, you 'fell' on your shoulder when you fainted." Dean sneered. "Honest, Dean." he mimicked Sam's tone from the previous night.

"Dean." Sam tried but Dean cut him off.

"Falling on your shoulder wouldn't bruise your back like that. Hell, it wouldn't even cause the swelling in your shoulder. At most, it would cause soreness, maybe some bruising, but nothing like that."

Emotion emoted from Sam's eyes and crossed every feature on his face. Dean swore the kid was trying hard not to cry and just like that, he deflated, letting his shoulders sag as he walked over to Sam who stood his ground, tense and unsure.

"So?" Dean thumbed the bruise, applying pressure until Sam squirmed. "No clue, huh? Sam, come on."

"Dean, I swear to you, I don't know how this happened. I didn't get hurt and hide it from you. I didn't lie to you. I have no idea where this came from."

"But it hurts?"

"Bit, yeah." he nodded. He didn't even notice the slight pain from his head, his back ached that badly. It hadn't hurt like this when he'd woken up and it sure as hell hadn't looked like this last night.

"Yesterday morning, you were fine, by dinner time, you were nauseous and dizzy. You puked and passed out. You admit to cracking your head and landing on your shoulder when you fell but deny having any idea what happened to cause your back to look like that. This doesn't add up Sam."

"What do you want me to say Dean? I _don't know _what happened!" he fought to keep his voice from rising. "I don't Dean, I can't explain this." he didn't want to argue, not up to a verbal confrontation.

Dean believed him, there was no way Sam would have been able to hide the pain he was in. Every movement of his arm or shoulder would have made him wince or cringe. The bruising was too severe to have come from a simple fall the night before and the swelling along his shoulder was not consistent with a fall at all.

"Ok, ok, ok." Dean rubbed his hands through his hair, blowing his breath out. "Go get your shower and we'll go eat." he waited until Sam had entered the bathroom and he heard the water before gathering what he would need for his own shower and knocked on the bathroom door. "Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm heading over for a shower; gimme twenty minutes and we'll go eat, 'k?"

"Sure." he called back. What else could he say? Dean, I don't feel right, don't leave me alone?

***000***

"Yo! Sammy! I'm back!" Dean charged through the front door thirty minutes later. "Sam?" he looked around the room as he walked towards the open bathroom door, eyes alert for any signs of foul play or the presence of an unwanted visitor. "Sam? Hey?"

Sam was on the bathroom floor, dressed and wet hair dripping down his back. He sat with his knees drawn cradling his left arm. He didn't raise his head or acknowledge Dean standing in the door way. The small bathroom had a toilet, a wall sink and a stand up shower and there was no room for Dean to kneel on the floor next to Sam so he straddled the toilet, knee bumping Sam's shoulder.

"What the fuck's with you?" Sam was quiet for so long, Dean didn't think he was going to answer. Just as he started to reach out to force Sam's head up, Sam held his left arm out for Dean to see, keeping his head down. "How did you do this?" sucking his breath in, Dean took hold of Sam's arm by his fingers, palm up. "Sam, Christ, that's at least a 2nd degree burn, what the hell did you do?" he didn't touch the blistered skin that stretched from wrist, half way to elbow. "Sam, talk to me, how did you get this?"

"I took a shower." he said thickly. "It…. hurts."

"I bet it does." Dean murmured reaching over to turn the cold water on in the sink. He knew damn well, Sam didn't get the burn from the water in the shower or the sink. The blistered skin looked consistent with a burn caused by being splashed with a hot liquid.

Dean was not an expert on burns, couldn't judge the difference between a 2nd and a 3rd degree burn, but he sure as hell knew the difference between a minor burn and a serious one. Both 1st and 2nd degree burns were painful, could cause infection, took a good month or better to heal and could leave a nasty scar and 3rd degree burns were severe enough to require medical attention.

"Okay, on your feet." he pulled Sam up who willingly rose to stand in front of the sink and let Dean pull his arm under the running water. He hissed, jerking back, trying to pull his arm free from Dean's hold, settling down when the cold water offered him some relief. The water pressure didn't break any of the five bubbled blisters and Dean blew his breath out, grateful for that.

Sam sniffed, but remained still and quiet.

"Keep your arm under the water. I'll be right back." he went to search for a clean, soft cloth to wrap the arm. He had antibiotic ointment and non-stick gauze in the first aid kit, but no bandages. "How's it look?" he pushed his way in next to Sam at the sink. "Let me see. Yeah, 'k, keep it under there a while longer, so um, were you adding wood to the fire? In the stove, maybe?"

"No." he was shaking, whether from his wet head and dripping hair, the cold water running over his arm or pain, Dean didn't know nor did he ask. It didn't seem all that important at the moment.

"You didn't get this burn from the water in this bathroom Sam." Dean said carefully, not wanting to outright accuse him of lying again.

"I dunno Dean, I got out, got dressed, I picked up a comb and…. my arm hurt and…."

"Sit." he guided Sam down onto the toilet and patted his arm dry as carefully and as lightly as he could.

"Is…it, um, bad?" Sam was all but on his toes, his butt left the toilet, he'd relax and ease back only to tense and come off the seat again. "Ow, god." he groaned. "Dean stop, that….hurts."

"Aaah, yeah, Sam, it's not good. Guess I'm hurting you, huh?"

"Um, I'm really not hungry anymore," he wiped tears from his cheeks with his right thumb. "Kinda just wanna go lay down." he jerked with a soft whimper. "Ow."

"Sorry, sorry, shit…..I'm sorry." Dean wiped his hand on a towel, the ointment rubbed in as well as he was going to get it. "Shudda shaved your arm, tape's gonna rip the hair out when you take the bandage off." he ripped a pillow case into strips and made a loose bandage around Sam's arm, tying it off. "Okay? Too tight?"

"It's good." he started to get up but Dean blocked him with his knee. He glanced up in confusion, all he wanted was to go lay down. "Dean? I wanna …"

"Take these." Dean's voice was soft. Sam blinked – pain meds. "Sam."

Sam forced himself to focus on Dean's outstretched palm and the pills that rested there. "No."

"Sam, I know you don't like to take pain meds, but you're wiped. Your back, your shoulder, your head, and now your arm. I'll give you a couple hours to sleep then I'll take another look at that arm, if any of those blisters broke, you're going to see a doctor." he filled a glass with water when Sam took the pills from him. "You might have to anyway."

Sam was too dazed to argue. He obediently swallowed the pills and gave Dean back the glass. They hadn't been orange so he guessed they were something stronger than ibuprofen.

"I know you aren't hungry, but try a piece of toast." Dean suggested. The pills would knock him out for a couple hours and Dean intended to drive down to the small town and use the payphone to place a collect call to Bobby. He also needed to pick up some more first aid supplies, ask where the nearest hospital was and get some groceries, might as well do it all in one trip. Sam nodded, hugging the blanket as he settled down on the sofa.

***000***

Bobby truly hated it when his home land line phone rang, it was usuallya solicitation. He couldn't honestly say why he even kept the line active.

"Hullo?" he heard the clicks that told him he was talking to a computer and was in the motion of hanging up when he heard an automated voice announce he had a collect call and ask if would he accept the charges. "Who the hell calls collect anymore?" he waited for the announcement to provide the name. Dean. "Yeah, yeah, sure." Bobby replied and waited for the call to connect. "A collect call? Are you kidding me? What the hell are you bothering me for?"

"Yeah, hello to you too." Dean cut in. "Look, I don't have a lot of time here, Bobby."

"I'm the one paying for the call." Bobby replied dryly.

"It's a pay phone, other people are waiting to use it." Dean explained impatiently. "I'm out of …"

"Yeah, like, whatever, where's your cell?"

"I'm at a campground miles into the mountains, no cell reception. Look Bobby, I…"

"Ok, ok, so, what do you want?"

"I'm trying to tell you. Sam….." Dean began only to have Bobby interrupt him again.

"Sam? Haven't heard from him. Last I heard from either of you was you telling me you were taking a vacation. I assume you know where you left him."

"He's with me."

"Then why are you calling me?"

"Cause something ain't right Bobby. I don't know what hell is going on, but something's up with Sam."

"Again?" Bobby sighed. "What is it this time?"

"I dunno, we were on a hunt before we came here, I didn't think he'd gotten hurt, but….."

"Now Dean, you do tend to over react where he's concerned. I'm sure he's fine."

"He fainted last night."

"He what? Oh now, come on!'

"Dammit Bobby, stop interrupting me!" Dean flared up. "He fell on his shoulder and you should see the freaking bruise on his back and this morning, he burned his arm and I have no fucking idea how he did either. We don't have hot water in the cabin, and he said he wasn't trying to add wood to the stove."

"He fell on his shoulder?" Bobby repeated. "How? And where?"

"When he fainted." Dean snapped impatiently. "In the parking lot of the diner."

"You were serious about that? Well damn Dean, bruises happen, and I'm sure he didn't take a cold shower, the water.."

"Is heated by a freaking wood stove, it doesn't get hot enough to cause a burn that blistered."

"Ok, ok, so he burned it on the stove, what do you want me to do?"

Dean sighed. "Do some research or something! I just…guess, I …he's got me on edge."

"He always does. I'm sure he's fine but let me pick a book and do some reading. Can I reach you on your cell?"

"No."

"How much longer are you doing the rustic thing?"

"Til Saturday, but we might have to find a hospital. Those blisters break, I'll have to take him in."

"What blisters?"

"The burn Bobby!" he exclaimed. "Will you listen?"

"Don't yell at me, I heard you the first time, I just assumed – as you are wont to do when it involves Sam – that you were exaggerating." Bobby huffed. "Is he ok?"

"I dunno, maybe, there's no concussion, but he…"

"Concussion? You didn't say anything about him being concussed. When did he hit his head?"

"When he fell."

"When he fell?" Bobby repeated.

"Yeah, you know, when he fainted."

"I thought you said he fell on his shoulder."

"He did."

"And hit his head?"

"Yeah."

"You aren't making any sense." Bobby said. "Cut your vacation short and bring him here."

"Yeah, yeah, look let me go." he'd thought talking to Bobby about Sam would make him feel better, it hadn't.

"Dean, tell me where you are." Bobby said with a patience he didn't feel. "If I can't reach you to check in on how Sam's doing, and I don't hear from you, I need to know where to find you."

"Yeah, ok, we rented a cabin near Devils Lake."

"In North Dakota?"

"Yeah, um, this payphone is at a store. I can give you that number and you can leave a message. They won't take it to me, but I come into town, I can pick it up, ready?"

"Go ahead." Bobby wrote the number down. The last call he'd gotten from Dean had been to tell him he was going off on his own for a while and wouldn't be in touch for at least a week. He hadn't said Sam would be with him. When Bobby had pushed him for more information, Dean had said good-bye and hung up. Now, not only was Dean telling him where he was, he was also leaving a way for Bobby to get in touch with him. "Make an effort to call me in two days."

"Sure."

***000***

Dean went back to the cabin, expecting to find Sam still asleep so finding him sitting in a chair at the kitchen table, right hand holding a towel to his nose with his head tilted back, was a surprise.

"Sam?" he let the door close with a bang, walking over to put the bag of groceries on the table. "What are you doing up? Thought you'd be asleep?"

"You went out?" he mumbled from behind the towel, lowering his head to give Dean an accusatory look.

"Um, yeah, went to the store to get your crackers and raspberry ginger ale. I was only gone like, an hour Sam." he took the towel from Sam. "Now, what did you do? You went out for ice? Dressed like that?" he hid a grin.

Sam touched one finger to his swollen, bleeding nose. "Ugh, nose bleed." he was pale, eyes hooded with fatigue. "I have pants on."

"From what? You were asleep Sam, how the hell did you manage to hit yourself in the nose?" he cupped Sam's chin to hold his head still. "And hit yourself hard enough to cause that swelling?" he looked at the towel. "And to cause it to bleed that heavily?" he gently poked and prodded the swollen nose. "Hell. Does this hurt? Can you breathe ok?" he pinched the bridge of Sam's nose, causing him to stiffen and jerk his head away.

"OW! I dunno Dean, I was asleep, woke up, and my nose was bleeding." Sam swatted Dean's hand away. "Can't feel much of anything, what did you give me anyway?"

"Uh-huh, just like that, huh?" Dean wet a towel with cold water and handed it to Sam. "Bleeding looks to have stopped. Eat some crackers and go back to bed and I'll get you some more ice." he gave Sam two ibuprofen. "Take the bed."

When Sam woke up again, it was close to 4 o'clock. He was somewhat disoriented because he expected to see either the fireplace or the back of the sofa and seeing a wall with a window gave him a fleeting moment of panic. He didn't feel good at all, his back still ached and his shoulder was sore but it was his arm that caused him to stifle a cry; his fingers were swollen and stiff, protesting his attempt to wiggle them and make a fist.

While his hand didn't hurt, his arm sure as hell did, hurt all the way to his shoulder that was already giving him fits. He blinked in an attempt to clear his vision, but the room remained blurry and off-tilt. He sat up slowly, right hand holding to his left arm, biting his lip against the sudden flare of pain. He thought about taking the bandage off to see why his arm hurt so much but decided he just wasn't up to dealing with the self-inflicted pain it would cause. The pain meds had obviously worn off. He'd get up and search out Dean who was sure to be somewhere close by and let him do it.

It wasn't until Sam was out of bed and standing that he became aware his belly hurt and he found he couldn't straighten up and that was how Dean found him; standing next to the bed, doubled over, left arm held against his stomach, right arm holding to the dresser to keep himself from hitting the floor.

"Hey?" Dean hung out in the doorway. "Going somewhere?

"Uh, to…find..you." Sam gasped breathlessly. "My…arm…hurts."

"Yeah, gonna for a while. It's what happens when you burn yourself."

"I did what?" he shook his head, groaning when his knees buckled and he hit the floor, "Dean…I, um…don't…feel good." he wiped the back of his right hand across his lip. At first Dean thought he'd taken another shower, his hair was that wet, but when he walked closer, he realized that it was sweat. He'd crawled into bed in only his t-shirt and underwear and both garments were now wet. Sam tried to stand up, but settled for sitting on his right hip, head down as he fought his rebellious stomach.

Dean went to the kitchen sink to wet a towel. Had he gone directly to Sam's, he might have been there soon enough to hand Sam the trashcan before he vomited all over the floor.

"Great!" Dean threw his hands up and turned back to the kitchen. He wondered what Sam had left in his belly to bring up. He hadn't eaten much of anything that day and had only had a bit of soup the day before which he had already lost to the toilet at the restaurant. He'd had time to sleep off the painkillers and Dean didn't think they were responsible for Sam sitting in a heap, vomiting on the floor. "What did you do this time? I swear, every time I let you out of my sight you end up hurting yourself somehow."

"Nooooo." Sam hunched over, bangs brushing the floor as his belly heaved again. "Gawd, I hate this." he groaned.

"Hey, keep your head up! Don't get your hair in….." Dean broke off as he pulled Sam upright by his good shoulder and Sam raised his head to wipe his palm across his chin. "Blood? Is that blood?" he leaned closer. "Sam? Are you pukin' blood?" Sam looked at his hand, wiggled his fingers and raised panicked eyes to meet Dean's.

"Um, maybe. I guess." he sighed, the brief moment of alarm gone. "Oh."

Dean didn't panic, attributing the presence of blood from the earlier nosebleed. "Here." he closed Sam's fingers around the wet towel and guided his hand to his face. Sam pushed it away, shoving with some force at Dean's hand.

"What the hell is your problem?" Dean demanded. "It's just a wet towel, ok?"

"Where were you?" Sam let his weight fall against the dresser, his left arm was useless and his right held the towel. "You left." he swallowed hard. "Again."

"I was just sitting outside, I heard you get up." Dean straightened up. "Come on, get off the floor so I can clean it up."

Sam buried his face in the coolness of the towel then rubbed it through his hair before dropping it and taking hold of the dresser to pull himself to his feet. Dean watched him struggle, waiting to see if he would ask for help. Sam didn't want to get up, what he wanted to do was curl into a ball on the floor, ask Dean for more of the pills he'd taken earlier, close his eyes, and pass out. He didn't think Dean would go for that idea but getting up just wasn't in his immediate plans so he let go and slid down to the floor, no longer caring what his brother thought.

"Oh no, no you don't. You ain't staying on the damned floor. Come on, get up." Dean stopped him from lying down. Sam gulped, more of a choked cry, taking a breath as he gathered himself to rise when Dean took hold under his arms and pulled, gaining his feet and holding to the dresser until he gained his balance. "Back to bed?"

"Um, bathroom." he waved weakly towards the small room, shuffling slowly towards the wall, meaning to hand walk it's length for support.

"You need help?" Dean had let him go to get paper towels to clean up the floor. Sam hadn't moved. "Sam?" he sighed, dropping a wad of towels over the mess on the floor. "Okay, come on. Wanna look at your arm anyway."

"Shi-it, it….hurts." he whispered. "Need…um…some clean…clothes."

"Sure." Dean gave him an arm to lean on. "Sit, you can change when I'm done, maybe wash up a bit and, God, pease tell me you won't need help." Dean wedged himself on the floor in front of Sam. "Lemme see."

"Hard doing anything one-handed." he sat on the toilet and held his arm out to Dean. "We aren't going anywhere, are we?"

"No." Dean un-wrapped the bandaged and removed the gauze. Sam flinched with a hiss. Dean didn't like how swollen his hand and wrist were, the bandage hadn't been tight enough to cause the swelling. "Not for a couple days." his eyes widened at the angry, raw burn on Sam's arm. He got up for the Neosporin but when he got back down and Sam saw the tube, he knew he was in for a fight.

"You want to touch it?" Sam asked nervously. "Dean, it hurts bad enough without you poking it…"

"You don't want an infection Sam." he waited until Sam nodded then squeezed the gel on his fingertips. "Ready?"

Sam tried, he truly tried to sit still and let Dean hold his hand and rub the ointment in, but he couldn't do it. He tensed, and winced and jerked, whimpering until tears pooled and he bit through his lip. Dean gave up, Sam was going to need to see a doctor and have the burn treated properly.

"Sam, if you won't let me or do it yourself then you'll have to see a doctor…"

"No. I don't need to." Sam shook his head. "Do I?" he asked with a sigh. "You think?"

"You can't stand me touching it Sam." Lord knew they both could handle more pain than any normal Joe, but pain wasn't the only problem. Infection could kill a person and Dean was not going to wait until the infection became life threatening.

"Tomorrow then, can we wait and go tomorrow? I just don't feel up to it now." the thought of riding in the car for any length of time had him pleading to get his own way. "Please, Dean." his eyes glimmered with emotion, cutting into Dean's firm resolve not to give in.

"Okay, ok, fine, tomorrow." Dean rubbed the ointment onto the gauze. It wasn't the best way to apply the medicine but it was his only way for now. He taped the gauze over the burn, re-wrapped the arm with the make-shift bandage then pressed his palm down with considerable force against Sam's skin. Sam cried out, coming off the toilet, but Dean didn't let go until Sam went limp, slumped down and pitched forward. He'd been expecting Sam to squirm, maybe try and break the hold, hell, even cry but not pass out.

"Son-of-a-bitch." Dean muttered. "Whoa, hey." he caught Sam and tried to hold him up, but there was no room to maneuver and Sam was limp and floppy. Dean had always marveled how limp Sam could go when asleep or unconscious, how limp and loose-limbed he could be when he didn't want to do something, it was like his bones ceased to exist. Dean managed to keep Sam from falling into his lap and somehow gained his feet, Sam conscious but unresponsive. "Sam, come on, get with it." he kept Sam on his feet with sheer strength and help from the wall.

Sam heard his brother's voice but couldn't understand one word he was saying. He felt tugged and pulled in different directions. His shoulder wanted to be rubbed and massaged, his stomach threatened to crawl up his throat and choke him, his nose refused to inhale a deep breath and his arm, oh god, his arm. The pain that radiated from his arm caused his toes to curl, his knees to knock together and his thighs to clench. He couldn't get on top of it, couldn't get a hold of it, tried and failed to understand what Dean wanted from him but years of obeying his older brother made him struggle to respond.

"Sam? You still hafta piss?" he gave Sam a gentle shake, causing his head to bob but eliciting no other response. "Fine, piss the bed."

Sam stumbled but with Dean's support, made it back to bed where he roused enough to take more pain meds. He mumbled something that Dean translated into Sam wanting Dean to have the bed but willingly went to sleep when Dean told him to stay put. Once Sam was finally down, Dean went outside to sit on the porch to watch the sunset. He made up his mind to take Sam to a doctor the next day and depending on what the doctor said, head on home to Bobby's. If Sam was going down from an infection, Dean wanted him in a familiar setting, with all the comforts of 'home' while he recovered.


	2. Chapter 2

The pain meds kept Sam quiet through the night even if he didn't sleep much. Dean slept on the sofa, waking whenever Sam stirred and rolled onto his shoulder or hit his arm and cried out and he only had to get up twice to go over and make sure Sam hadn't sprouted a new injury.

It made for another long night and come morning, Dean was tired and irritable. He finally got up because Sam had yet to stir on his own. Dean gently shook Sam until he pulled away with a soft groan. The bed sheets were damp from sweat and so tangled and twisted around Sam, that Dean couldn't tug them free. Dean pushed at him until he gingerly eased onto his back and blinked up at Dean through wet, tangled bangs. Dean gave him a cheeky grin and pulled the blankets and top sheet from the bed and tossed them towards the door. The pillow cases followed next.

"Morning." Dean greeted cheerfully. "How you doin' Sammy? You look like shit dude."

"Leave me alone." Sam groaned, pulling the pillow over his face.

"Not until you shower." Dean snatched the pillow away. "Get up so I can have those sheets, you need to pee yet?"

"Guess, yeah." he needed Dean's help to gain his feet but once up, he managed the short walk to the bathroom on his own and Dean took the opportunity to change the sheets on the bed, keeping an ear out for the expected thump from the bathroom.

"Sam? How long does it take you to piss these days?" he pushed the door open. Sam stood in front of the toilet, left arm held close to his stomach, right hand braced against the wall behind the toilet. His forehead rested on his arm and he didn't move when Dean entered the bathroom. Dean bit his lip, Sam's arm shook from the strain of supporting his weight; he shivered as if cold, but was glistening in sweat. His arm, neck and face actually looked like he had bathed in baby oil and his shirt was damp and sticking to his shoulders. Dean glanced down at the toilet, expecting to see signs of Sam being sick, not at all prepared to see blood. "Sam?' he questioned. Had Sam vomited blood again, he would be on the floor. "Did you piss blood?" he took the two steps required to reach Sam's side. "Are you…." he pushed Sam's shirt up, revealing his back, sighing when he saw the bruising he knew would be there. "Don't suppose you can explain this either, huh?"

"Explain what?" his voice was a husky whisper. "Jesus."

Dean had nothing to say. He'd been with Sam for the last week and nothing had happened to cause the bruises on his lower back that hadn't been there last night. Dean had seen his back for himself the night before last when he had fallen and Dean had put him to bed with ice. There had been no sign of any injury to his kidneys that would cause him to be pissing blood now

"You mighta mentioned that your lower back hurt." Dean was at a complete loss. "This the first time you pissed blood?"

"My shoulder hurt, not my back." he pushed off the wall and transferred his weight to Dean. "I still don't know how I bruised down my shoulder to my back. I don't Dean, I really don't."

"Should see it now, you're one big bruise from shoulder to your hip."

"Yeah, well, hurts like a motherfu….hurts."

"Bet it does, ok, come on, get off your feet."

Sam spent the morning on the sofa. He'd managed a quick wash up in the sink, too unsteady to attempt a shower; he even managed to brush his teeth but skipped shaving. He let Dean bully him into eating some oatmeal and toast and while he kept it down, it sat heavy in his belly and nausea kept him lying down. He slept soundly enough Dean deemed it safe to go off to the Laundromat.

Sam had to see a doctor. The burn on his arm was reason enough to take him in; possible damage to his kidneys made the trip a must. Sam slept because he was taking pain meds. His hand and shoulder were still swollen, his back was still bruised, his nose could be broken and he couldn't tolerate Dean touching the burn. He was dizzy and light-headed on his feet and nauseous whenever he stood for too long. The two fires Dean kept burning could not possibly be the cause of Sam constantly sweating through his clothes, the sheets and the blankets. No injury was healing; it was as if they had gone untreated. So, soon as the laundry was done, Dean would get Sam up and they would head to the hospital whether Sam liked it or not.

***000***

"Sam? You awake?" Dean sat down on the coffee table and nudged his toe against Sam's hip. He was curled up on the couch, ice on his back and on his nose and Dean was reluctant to make him move, much less get up and get dressed and ride for over an hour in the car. "Hey, wake up."

"I'm awake, stop it."

Dean saw him tense; his shoulders stiffen as he waited to hear what Dean wanted. "How you feeling? Any better?"

"Not really." he didn't move, knowing what Dean was going to say next. "I don't want to go anywhere Dean."

"You have to." he lifted the towel from Sam's face. "Christ."

"No, I don't." he replied tiredly. "Why?"

"Because you won't let me touch your arm and when I made you let me, you passed out. You can't breathe through your nose and oh yeah, you're pukin' blood." Dean kept his tone light; he didn't want to sound like he was scolding. "Oh, and need I mention the blood in the urine bit?"

"Not gonna let me outta this are you?" he sighed in defeat. "Okay, but first, I'm gonna shower."

"Deal, but not here. Shower's too small if you face plant on me, we'll go over to the campground, okay?"

"Whatever." he slowly sat up and tossed the towel of ice. "Just….lemme get a towel."

Dean walked over with Sam, waiting in the room with the lockers while Sam showered. The showers were on the other side of the wall and while loathe to let Sam out of his sight, Dean really didn't think he needed to watch him shower. Besides he could hear well enough, could hear the water running, could hear the occasional grunt when Sam raised an arm or twisted the wrong way, could hear his muttered curse when the shampoo bottle hit the floor and….heard the thud when Sam followed the bottle to the floor.

"Dammit." he rounded the corner. "Sam! Yo Sammy! Sam. What the hell….? he turned the shower off and splashed his way across the floor. "Sam! Oh, come on, not again! Sam!" he squatted down and lifted Sam's head off the floor, slapping at his cheeks. "Sam!"

Sam stirred, coughing on swallowed water and blood. He fought briefly against Dean then relaxed when he realized who held him down. He knew he was wet and chilly and uncomfortable but couldn't discern anything else, not where he was or why.

"Again with a bathroom floor." Dean sighed. "Dude, enough with filthy public floors. Come on, get up." Sam was slippery but Dean managed to get him on his feet, adding only a bruise, maybe two and out of the shower where Sam wrapped a towel around his waist and sat down on a bench near the lockers. "What happened?" he demanded, facing Sam, hands on hips.

"I…dun….dunno." Sam winced, holding his head. "Shit."

"Nuh-uh. Keep your head up, and tilt it back, your nose is bleeding again. Did you slip and fall? Did you faint?" Dean sat down on a bench opposite Sam. "You hurt yourself, _again_, you can't keep doing this." he laid a hand on Sam's bare shoulder frowning at the heat his fingers encountered. How the hell could his skin be that hot? He'd just gotten out of a shower!

"I'm not…I didn't…" he shook his head in denial and….fell over. Dean caught him by his shoulders and the applied pressure caused him to promptly throw up. Dean let him go to wearily rub his forehead. Sam doubled over, his chest on his knees and Dean saw the blood matted in his hair, trickling down the back of his neck to his back.

"What the hell…" his fingers splayed through Sam's hair, parting it on the back of his head to reveal a swollen lump that was bleeding sluggishly. The cold water from the shower had slowed the bleeding and now that Sam's body was warming up, the bleeding was getting heavier. "Okay, get dressed."

"Gimme…a…minute." Sam gasped, the room was spinning, his skin was crawling, he couldn't breathe and someone was repeatedly driving a stake through the back of his skull. "Mmmmm, ow…damn it."

"Put your clothes on." Dean tossed his jeans at him, luckily they landed on the bench next to him, not the vomit splattered floor. Sam's hand inched toward the denim and he gathered the familiar garment with shaking fingers, pulling the worn, soft denim into his lap. He wanted, no needed, to feel secure and everything around him was foreign. Nothing was familiar; not where he slept, not where he ate, not where he showered. He was used to the layout of a motel room, two beds with Dean within easy reach; a bathroom with a tub and hot water and heat.

He didn't move to dry off or get dressed, not even when his shirt smacked him in the face.

"You're going to the hospital, so suck it up, it's an hour ride." his sneakers hit the floor next to his feet. "Get dressed."

"What? No, no Dean." he jumped, startled. "Can't I just go lay down? Please?"

"Get dressed." he found paper towels in a closet and once again, cleaned up after Sam. "I'm not kidding, you didn't even take that bandage off when you got in the shower. Your head has to hurt and will probably need stitches. I'm out of pain meds, you want me to stitch you up with only ibuprofen?" he waited. "Yeah, didn't think so."

"But Dean, I don't feel….." his vision narrowed, widened, narrowed, the jeans in his hands blurred, and suddenly, the floor was in his face. "Dean?" he felt himself falling, either sideways or forward, hell maybe even backwards, he didn't know, he just knew he was no longer sitting up.

"Okay, ok, I'm right here. Put your head down." Dean held to the back of Sam's neck, thumb mindlessly rubbing circles until the threat of pitching over passed. "Let's get you dressed. What did you do to make your nose bleed again?" he felt Sam shrug. "You'd better not bleed all over the seat in the car."

Sam kept his eyes closed; one minute Dean wants him to keep his head back, the next he's telling him to put it down. Did Dean not realize the room was fluctuated in sickening ways? Bright then dark, loud then quiet, still then spinning, large then small, far away then in his face. His skin was hot but his body was cold and he didn't know what he was expected to do with whatever it was he held in his hands so he sat, wet and shivering.

He heard Dean prattle on, wanted to respond, to answer, to acknowledge but all he could do was press his head against the nearest solid surface and whuffle. Dean wasn't sure what sound Sam was making, a groan, a sigh, a whimper? Whatever it was, his brother's head bumped against his hip making it feel like Sam's entire weight thumped against him from the head butt.

Dean threaded his fingers through Sam's hair, making a part and applying a wet towel directly against the swollen, split skin. Another whuffle sound from Sam followed by a moan of what could only be pain and Dean was murmuring soothing words of nonsense in an attempt to keep him calm.

"Much as you'd like to stay here, you gotta get dressed so we can go." Dean said. "Sorry dude." he pushed Sam away. "Come on, I'll even help you."

***000***

"Yeah, Dean?" Bobby picked up the phone with a sigh. He had no answers to give the impatient elder Winchester and boy, wouldn't he just take that well.

"Hey Bobby." Dean said tiredly. "Thought I'd call and…..."

"And on your cell too." Bobby cooed. "No collect call this time?"

"Yeah, well, I'm in the city, had to bring Sam into the ER." Dean cut in sharply. "We're waiting at a pharmacy for some prescriptions."

"Bring him here." Bobby's whole demeanor changed. "He's ailing then?"

"He's not up to driving in a car for that many hours. It was just over an hour here and he had to lie down in the back seat so, gonna get a motel here."

"So, guessing those blisters burst?"

"No. He pissing blood. Oh, and he fell in the shower cracking the back of his head open. Bled all the way here, has a mild concussion, got stitches. Yesterday, he somehow hit himself in the nose, had one massive nose bleed then puked blood all over the floor. He passed out on me when I touched his arm. Stopped him from falling off the bench and he puked on my feet. Oh, and nothing is healing. The bruise on his back, which I still have no idea how he got, looks as bad today as it did two days ago. The swelling in his shoulder hasn't come down at all, and the burn makes me want to puke just looking at it."

"He hit himself in his nose hard enough to cause a nosebleed? How the hell did he do that?"

"Hell, I dunno. He doesn't even know, says he woke up and it was bleeding. I thought he broke it but it's just swollen. Every bruise or injury can be explained by a fall. Doctor said it doesn't look like he burned his arm on a stove so, guessing he burned it in the shower but I don't see how he could have. I have no idea why he is suddenly falling and knocking himself out or why he's always puking. I can't even come up with a lame explanation for the bruised kidneys. I just don't see how he could have done that to himself."

"What was the last hunt you were on? Fill me in." Bobby no longer thought Dean was over-reacting or exaggerating. If something had happened to hurt Sam then they needed to act quickly and figure out what. In their lives, every second mattered.

"About a week ago…." Dean gave him a shortened version of the hunt he'd been on with his brother. "That's it."

"You doin' ok? And by that, I mean, you clear-headed?" Bobby brusquely asked.

"Yeah, guess so." Dean sighed. "Um, you got anything going?"

"You askin' me to drive to the middle of nowhere North Dakota?"

"I gotta go back to the cabin and get our stuff, check out and settle the bill. I can't make him go with me and I'm scared to leave him. I don't trust him to stay alone." Dean paused, clearing his throat. "And I don't want to Bobby. Leave him alone.""

"Give me directions, the cabin number and tell me how much you owe." Bobby said. "Then tell me how to get to where you are now."

"Thanks Bobby."

"Dean, just…well, have you thought about calling Cas?"

"Life or death situations Bobby, and this ain't one." Dean glanced over to where Sam sat on a bench near the pharmacy, slumped against the wall. "Yet."

"Okay, text me when you have a motel room." yet meant Dean would call for Cas if Sam got worse. Bobby supposed that should make him feel better but it didn't. "Should be there before midnight."

Dean ended the call and walked over to Sam. "You ok here for a minute?"

"Yeah." he didn't move, didn't even open his eyes.

"Hitting the men's room. You want anything? Some water, maybe?"

"No." he was ready to leave and go find the motel. Dean could come back later for the prescriptions but before he could suggest it, Dean continued.

"If they ain't ready by the time I get back, you can go out and lay down in the car."

"Can't I do that now?"

"I, aah, don't trust you outta my sight. Least here, the aide at the pharmacy counter can keep an eye on you."

Sam sighed, struggling not to let his face betray his emotions, with his eyes closed, it wasn't hard to do. If Dean wouldn't let him go out to the car, there'd be no way he'd agree to take Sam to the motel and leave him there by himself. Yesterday he hadn't wanted to be alone, the cabin and the surrounding noises of nature foreign to him and now that he was content to crawl into bed and be by himself, Dean wasn't letting him outta his sight. Well...

"And she can do what for me?"

"Stay there, do not move. I don't care if the building catches fire, keep your ass on that bench until I get back, you got me? You feel sick, use the trash can, ok?" he waited. "Sam? Ok?" he pushed.

"Yes." he bit out. "Go." so we can leave, he added silently. The exam by the doctor had been uncomfortable. He wasn't sure what conclusions had been reached but the doctor had had a lengthy conversation with Dean and the outcome had prompted Dean to decide not to return to the cabin, get a motel room and call Bobby.

"Okay, be right back….stay."

Dean wasn't gone long, returning within ten minutes. He rounded the corner to a crowd of people surrounding the pharmacy counter and on the floor, in the middle of it all, sat Sam.

"That is so not keeping your ass on the bench." Dean shook his head. Sam was conscious and sitting up. Oh, he was pale and shaking, holding his head and sweating, but at least there were no apparent new injuries and he didn't appear to be bleeding anywhere. "What happened?"

"He…had…questions." Sam mumbled thickly, barely coherent. "God, my…freakin' head." he'd fought to remain conscious, not wanting to pass out while alone with strangers but now that Dean was back, he had no reason to stay awake. He started to lay down but was held back by a restraining hand.

"You with him?" someone asked. "One minute he's standing at the counter and the next, boom."

"Yeah, we just left the ER, head injury so he's a little confused. Sorry Sammy." Dean vowed there and then that he wouldn't let Sam out of his sight for any length of time, for any reason. The last thing either of them needed was someone calling 911. He thought about getting Sam on his feet and back over to the bench then decided to leave him where he was. By now the prescriptions should be ready, all Dean had to do was pay for them and they could leave. "Sam, hurt anything?" he squatted down, balancing on his toes.

"I wanna lay down." he rubbed his forehead against Dean's shoulder, his left temple itched, the wound had started to scab over and he hadn't put a bandage on it that morning. "Please?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean pushed at him. "Stop it. I just need to go pay and we can go."

"Itches. Wait….we're going." Sam blinked, reluctant to let Dean go. Afraid he'd leave and Sam would be alone again in a strange place with a crowd of people staring down at him. He slowly released his hold on the hem of Dean's coat, glancing around for something solid to grab hold of to pull himself to his feet. He didn't know what hurt most, his head, his nose, his arm, or his ass. The floor was hard and he'd fallen on his tailbone, sending jarring stabs of pain up his back and down his thighs. "Okay…."

"I'm right here." Dean rose to his feet, pulling Sam up with him. "No, stay here with me." he held onto Sam by his right elbow. "Gimme two minutes." he fished with his free hand for a credit card and laid it on the counter. "Sam? You ok?"

"No." he was breathing hard, nearly panting. Unable to breath at all through his nose, he was wheezing, fighting for each breath. Standing upright was an obvious effort and whether it was from the medication he'd received at the hospital, not sleeping well, being weak from not eating or from the constant pain he'd been in for two days, he was losing the fight to remain on his feet.

"Ok, ok, just….." Dean gave his elbow a squeeze, his way of offering comfort. Sam leaned forwared then jerked back. Dean let go of his arm and put his hand on the back of his shoulder, arm a heavy, yet comforting weight on Sam's back. "We'll go in just a minute." Dean said quietly. Sam was wiped; he was swaying on his feet, unable to keep his eyes open. Credit card receipt signed and the prescriptions pocketed, Dean steered Sam towards the door. "Okay….we're good. Let's go."

***000***

Sam woke in a dimly lit room and the sound of the TV. He rolled over and took a moment to decide how he felt. He remembered the ER experience and the incident at the pharmacy and was surprised he felt so much better after a bit of sleep. He sat up, rested a moment then swung his legs off the bed, remembering stumbling into the room and crawling into bed still dressed.

"Sam? You up?" Dean muttered sleepily, sprawled comfortably on his belly in the other bed.

"Yeah, gotta piss. Vending machines close?"

"What'cha want?"

"Soda." he stood up. "I'll go get it."

"Yeah, aah...see, I don't think so." the doctor had said once the pain meds he'd given Sam for his arm had a chance to kick in, Sam would be feeling better. Looks like he'd been right. "You feeling better, then?"

"Um, yeah, actually. I know I hurt, just can't feel any pain."

"He gave you some strong shit." god knows the three prescriptions had cost enough. Dean got up to find his wallet and searched for some singles. "Go piss, I'll walk with you, see how you feel once you've been up for a bit."

The vending machines weren't far, within sight of their room and Dean nearly let Sam take the short walk by himself. He pulled his boots on but didn't bother to tie them. "Sam? You hungry? Can have it delivered? I doubt you feel up to going out to eat. Or I can call Bobby, see how close he is."

"Bobby's coming? Why?" he came out of the bathroom and rooted around on the table for change.

"Help me figure how what the hell's going on."

"Oh." Sam lowered his head. "Sorry. You didn't need to make him come up here."

"Come on." Dean opened the door and followed Sam out. It was dark out and Dean mentally counted the hours that had passed since he had spoken with Bobby. He'd be further out than Dean had thought, delivery it would be. Pizza? Chinese didn't sound at all appetizing, maybe a deli…..

"Dean?" Sam's whispered breath caught his attention and he brought his head up to see what his brother wanted.

"Yeah Sam?'' he kicked at a rock, stopping to turn around because for whatever reason, Sam was now behind him. When the hell had that happened?

"Dean?" Sam weaved, then stumbled. "I…think…I've….been…."

Dean's jaw dropped in shock, Sam was on his knees.

"Shot."

Dean couldn't move. Shot? How _in the hell_ could Sam have been shot? He'd been either behind or in front of Sam and he'd heard no gun shot, seen nothing, sensed nothing, no one had been anywhere near them. No car had driven by; there were no trees or buildings where someone could have hidden.

"Sammy?" Dean rushed forward to catch his brother in his arms, taking his weight as Sam slumped. "Easy, I've got you, Sam? You still with me?" they were both on their knees, Sam slumped against Dean.

"Dean." his chin fell to his chest, then his head snapped back, eyes rolling. "Did….someone…shoo-shoo, shoot…me?" his voice wavered.

"Where?" Dean demanded. How the hell could this be happening? A gun shot? Sam had lost blood between pissing it, which he would continue to do for several days yet, two head wounds and a severe nose bleed and now he was going to lose more from a gunshot wound. Dean couldn't very well take him back to the hospital. All gunshot wounds were reported to the police. No artfully spun tale would keep the authorities from being called this time. "SAM!" Dean gave him a gentle shake. Maybe Sam was mistaken; Dean didn't see how anyone could have shot his brother right next to him without him knowing it. "Sammy! Hey, talk to me, where? Huh? Where?" he kept his voice even and calm.

"Shoul…d..er."

Dean put a hand on each of Sam's shoulders and his fingers came away from Sam's left shoulder, sticky with fresh blood. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no." Dean let his eyes close, feeling the depth of his despair clear down to his toes. The first aid kit was back at the cabin. He had nothing with him and Bobby was still a good two to three hours out. He eased his hand underneath Sam's armpit, probing gently for an exit wound, moving to his back, cursing when he found nothing. They would have to wait for Bobby to arrive to extract the bullet. On one hand, he was ok with that, on the other, he didn't know if he could/should wait the length of time it would take for Bobby to arrive. "Stay with me Sam, come on, you've gotta get up."

Sam responded to the commanding voice he had responded to his entire life. He couldn't understand Dean's exact words, but he was so accustomed to Dean's movements that he knew what Dean wanted without having to hear him. Gathering his strength, he forced his legs to obey and rose to his feet with Dean's help. His knees locked on their own and he slung his right arm across Dean's shoulders and stumbled along, letting Dean guide him.

He'd yet to open his eyes, afraid if he did so, the world would spin and tilt and he wouldn't be able to fight passing out. He didn't need to see, whatever medication the doctor had given him seemed to have reduced the swelling in his nose and he was able to smell and the scent he inhaled was all Dean. The generic motel issued soap and shampoo, the mint flavored mouthwash, the Old Spice aftershave, smells that had always been in his life. Smells that meant care, companionship, comfort, security, love. That was enough.

"Ok, tough guy." Dean kicked the motel room door open. "Down, no, no….the bed, not the floor, ok, now….down."

Sam hit the bed with his knees and let himself fall. Dean guided him down and over onto his back. Neither of them had worn a coat for the short walk, and Dean found something to be grateful for. The bullet wouldn't have dragged any dirt or fabric in with it from a dirty coat, Sam's t-shirt was relatively clean. Dean used his teeth to start a rend in the hem of the shirt and easily ripped it up the front. Sam didn't move, letting Dean run his hand over his shoulder and arm, down his chest and up to his neck, seeking the extent of the damage caused by the bullet.

Dean was relieved that it was Sam's shoulder, not his chest or stomach but pissed it hadn't exited. The worst case scenario he could think of was having some difficulty retrieving the bullet. Had it hit a bone, it could have ricocheted and digging for it with hemostats would be painful. The wound bled freely so Dean held a folded towel against it and slightly applied pressure.

Sam stirred at the discomfort it caused but he didn't try to pull away nor did he push Dean's hand away. His eyes sought Dean's, holding his gaze until weariness gave way to pain he could no longer fight. Dean gave him more pain meds and let him pass out. He wasn't surprised when Sam willingly took them, the kid was done in. He probed the bullet wound, searching for the bullet with his finger praying it wasn't too deep and he'd be able to feel it. Sam moved restlessly, murmuring in protest, but he didn't wake up and Dean didn't find what he was poking around for.

***000***

"Dean?" Bobby said quizzically, answering his cellphone. "Everything alright? Didn't expect to hear from you?"

"Where you at?" Dean asked. He'd taken a moment and stepped outside. "When will you be here?"

"I'm a couple hours out yet, haven't even made it to the cabin. Is he worse?"

"He's been shot." he cleared his throat. "Bobby, I …"

"HE WHAT? Where? Jesus Dean, why were you cleaning it with him around?"

"I didn't shoot him!" Dean exclaimed incredulously. "How could you even think that?!"

"Then what happened?"

Dean filled him in, explaining that the first aid kit was at the cabin and he had nothing other than what he could pick up at the drug store. Bobby understood the dilemma over the ER and wanted to reassure Dean but didn't want to offer false assurances either.

"Can he wait until I get there?"

"Dunno. I got the bleeding stopped but if he starts thrashing around, it'll start again but he's not feeling much pain 'cause of the meds they gave him at the ER. Bobby, I don't understand any of this, at first I thought it was just him, you know? Maybe getting sick and being dizzy caused him to fall, but he didn't shoot himself, I was right there with him."

"Do what you need to for him, you know what to look for and you know what to do. You know him better than anyone. So, if he's dealing great, if he's struggling, you know where the hospital is. We'll deal with the police later."

"Yeah, yeah….Yeah, ok, guess. I'll see you when you get here."

Sam was sitting up in bed, resting back against the head-board when Dean entered the room. He rolled his head along the wall as the door opened, feeling the cold air. He'd taken off the torn t-shirt and didn't have any other clothes to put on. Dean frowned, wondering how he'd found both the strength and coordination to sit up on his own and remove the shirt.

"Sorry." Dean said. "You cold? I can run out to Wally World and …" the look Sam gave him ended that thought before he completed speaking it. "Bleeding again?"

"No." he slowly inched his ass across the bed to the edge and swung his legs to the floor. "Help me up." he'd sat up with the intention of getting out of bed on his own but his body's reaction had made him decide it was best to wait for Dean.

"Bobby's hours out yet, how you doing?"

"Ugh. Guess ok." he didn't sound convincing and shrugged at the look Dean gave him. "Been better."

"You sure about that?" Dean questioned.

"What do you want me to say Dean? That I feel like shit? Fine, my head hurts, my nose hurts, my back hurts, my shoulder hurts, I fell on my ass and now it's numb and my arm…..well….." he just waved his right hand over the bandage. "So yeah, feel like shit. I'm dizzy and nauseous and my vision is blurry and I can't judge distance and I'm still thirsty and I can smell but not breathe and pissing requires me to hold onto the wall and….."

"Ok, ok, I get you, I'm stupid. Once you're in the bathroom, I'll go get that soda, ok?" Dean was surprised Sam had been awake, he'd expected him to be out for a while longer. "Stay in there until I get back."

"Yeah, sure."

The vending machine had Sprite, not Sam's favorite or even his first choice, but it would do. Dean doubted he'd drink much, if any so it didn't really matter what he selected to take back. He took a moment to breath in the crisp cool air. It helped clear his head but he still felt overwhelmed. All he'd wanted was a couple days to step away from his responsibilities and have some time for himself.

He felt like punching the concrete wall of the motel, wanted to kick the tree until he shredded the bark from it; something, anything to relieve his frustrations but he didn't. He returned to the motel room to find Sam sitting on the side of the tub, face buried in a towel and Dean felt his stomach knot as he tried to determine what had happened this time.

"Sam?" Dean stood in the bathroom doorway. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." he tossed the towel. "Just…this sucks."

Dean gave him a hand gaining his feet. "Yeah, I know. You feeling much pain?"

"Not from my head or shoulder, barely feel the gunshot but….my arm…man." the pain was steady, sharp, throbbing and relentless. And whether he laid his arm flat on the mattress by his side, on his stomach, elevated on a pillow, hanging off the mattress or flung up over his head, it didn't stop, it didn't ease and no one position was better than another. There was no relief. He didn't even want to think about how it would feel if he wasn't hopped up on pain meds. He struggled to keep his breathing even, to not pant, to not cry. He wanted to curl up on his side and scream into a pillow. Wanted to kick his feet and pound his fist against the mattress, wanted to pass out and wake up in the morning and find this had all been a nightmare.

"Don't suppose you'll let me have…?" he wasn't going to beg. He knew he had a head injury and a concussion, knew he had lost blood but….. his eyes stung from trying to hold back the tears and his lip bled from biting it and the taste of blood caused his stomach to roll and his hands shook from the effort to not collapse against the warm body next to him and he _couldn't_ do this anymore….

Dean's gaze went from Sam's begging eyes to his watch and back to Sam. It'd only been two hours since he'd last given Sam pain meds. Recommended was every six and had Sam not just been shot, Dean would have told him no but he couldn't refuse, not now. Sam wouldn't just ask for more meds.

"Okay." maybe the second dose so close to the first would knock him out and keep him under. "Soda or water?

"Soda." he sat down on the bed, shaking from the effort the ten steps from the bathroom had required. "Cold."

"It's Sprite, I'll go to the store tomorrow." he didn't miss the way Sam looked away, biting on his bottom lip to keep it from quivering; saw the way his shoulders tensed and how his chin ducked towards his chest. "Or Bobby will go." Dean said easily. Sam took the glass and though his hand shook he swallowed the pills without spilling any.

"Um, can I have more?" he couldn't hold the glass out, his arm refused to move that far away from his body. He tried a second time and fell forward, Dean being the reason he didn't fall off the bed. Dean had learned not to grab Sam by his left shoulder from the morning episode at the campground bathrooms; he didn't make that mistake this time. He stopped Sam's pitch to the floor by his right shoulder and elbow and gently forced him to lie down on his back. Sam protested, squirming uneasily as he tried to sit back up.

"Nooooo." he pointed towards the glass that had fallen to the mattress. "I can't…drink lying down."

"Sssh." Dean poured more soda into the glass. "Come up on your elbow." he ordered. Sam blinked in confusion and lifted his head. Dean sighed, not wanting to wedge his hand between Sam's head and the pillow, scared of poking or pulling on the stitches. "Right. No, rest your weight…..that's it." Sam took the glass but Dean kept a hold on the bottom. "Okay now?"

"Thanks." his eyes closed and the lines of exhaustion and pain around his eyes and mouth eased.

"Don't fight it Sam." Dean warned his brother tiredly. "We gotta wait for Bobby, so…..go ahead and sleep."

***000***

"Did you bring the beer?" Dean asked, digging through the trunk, then the back seat when Bobby finally arrived around 11:30. All he found was bottles of whiskey. "Bobby, there was a whole case at the cabin."

"Relax, floor in the front. Guess I don't gotta ask how he's doing." Bobby said dryly. Dean flipped him off, tossing bags onto the ground from the trunk. "He asleep?"

"Yeah, pain meds." Dean unloaded the backseat. "Room has a sofa. You can bunk with us, though doubt either of us will be getting much sleep."

"He doin ok? Running a fever? Anything like that?"

"He's quiet."

Bobby followed Dean into the room and went immediately to the bed where a fitful Sam slept on his right side. He sat down on Dean's bed, facing Sam and turned the light on. He reached out to palm Sam's forehead, pausing when Sam lifted his face towards him, rolling his head on the pillow.

"God damn!" Bobby whistled. "He looks like you beat the crap outta him! Lookit that nose! Is that what caused his eyes to swell? Sockets are bruised. What happened to his forehead?"

"Told you he fell the other night."

"You didn't say anything about all the bruising." Bobby accused. "His eyebrows are black and blue and why is his entire forehead bruised?"

"I told you, HE FELL!"

"I'm talking about his face! Christ Dean." Bobby got up and stood over Sam, leaning forward to peer closely at him. He wanted to feel out every bruise, bump, lump and stitch but Sam was having none of it. "And you didn't do any of this to him?" Bobby asked gruffly. "No, brotherly fist-fight?" Sam looked like he had gone several rounds in a boxing ring and hadn't come out the winner.

Dean chose not to answer, busy putting as many beers as he could in the small fridge. It wouldn't hurt to let Bobby fuss for a bit. Bobby was reluctant to even disturb the Sam, but he needed to get a good look at the bullet wound in his shoulder.

"Okay." Bobby turned his attention to Dean. "Did you get any sleep while you were waiting for me?"

"Off and on, yeah, ready?"

"He sleeping on his own?"

"Hell no, doc at the ER gave him some strong shit for that arm."

"Gonna need hot water."

"No way to boil any, wait, no, got a microwave." he rubbed at his eyes. "Guess that'll do."

Bobby knew Dean was tired and if he could, he would wait until morning so both he and Dean could get some rest. The drive had been long and tense and stressful, but Sam couldn't wait that long. He'd been left unattended for too long and Bobby would need Dean's help. No one would be getting any sleep before dawn.

"Okay, from the beginning, when did this start?" he started to go through the bags and boxes Dean had carried in.

"We went to the movies on Tuesday; he got sick in the diner on our way back to the cabin, passed out in the parking lot, hit his head and fell on his shoulder. This cut here….." he turned Sam's head to show Bobby his left temple. "Bled some, but didn't need stitches. When we got back to the cabin, I saw his back and the bruise. He claims it wasn't there that morning and said it must have been a result of the fall. Wednesday morning, I went to get a shower, came back, and he was sitting on the bathroom floor with nasty-ass burn on his arm. I left him to go to the store and call you and when I got back, he had a swollen bloody nose. Later that day he puked blood. I tried to tend his arm and he passed out."

"That all?"

"This morning, he pissed blood. The entire left side of his back from his neck to his ass is one big bruise. I swear to god it wasn't like that yesterday. I made him go over to the campground to get a shower and he passed out and split the back of his head open. He nearly passed out when he was sitting down and when I touched him, he couldn't handle the pressure on his shoulder and threw up on my feet. He passed out in the pharmacy and when we got here, we walked out to the vending machines, he'd been shot and went down."

"That's a lot to happen in what, two days?"

"Yeah, and he willingly took pain meds for me yesterday and today he asked for more."

"He asked?" Bobby said dubiously. "Dean, he will barely take ibuprofen and you know what naproxen does to him, you're telling me he asked you for prescription pain meds?"

"Yes."

"Well, damn me." Bobby muttered. "I dunno Dean, something about this ain't ringing right. We'll dig for that bullet and we'll get it out, but since it's been several hours he's likely to develop an infection."

"Doc said he probably would from his arm anyway. I have a prescription for antibiotics; hopefully they work on any infection."

"Alright then." Bobby began making preparations for the process of removing the bullet. He hoped the bullet wasn't too deep, hadn't hit a bone, and hadn't ricocheted to where they would need to cut Sam open to get it out. He wanted a quick three-step procedure; insert hemostats, remove bullet, stitch up, easy as that.

"You think he's gonna lose a lot of blood? I poked around a bit with my finger but couldn't feel the bullet."

"How low was his blood pressure at the ER?" Bobby paused. "You poked with your finger?"

"Not so low the doctor had a fit but low enough that any more significant blood loss could be a problem." Dean sat down on Sam's bed, nudging him along his hip. "And I said I poked around, I didn't go sticking my finger in. I wanted to see if I could feel it. Geesch."

Bobby came to stand behind Dean as Sam woke up. He'd thought Sam had looked miserable while asleep, but one look into Sam's pain-filled murky eyes and Bobby was thinking maybe he needed to redefine the definition of the word miserable. Sam blinked blearily up at Bobby, his eyes searching the room before settling back on Bobby.

"Hey Bobby." he licked his lip, voice husky. The medicated fog had yet to clear and the pull of the medication was strong, and he was willing to let himself go with it.

"Stay with me here Sam." Dean gave him a gentle shake. "Hey."

"When did you last give him any meds?"

"Two hours ago maybe and that was two hours after the last time. I haven't given him anything but the prescription."

Sam yawned, easing onto this back with a wince. "We going somewhere? I gotta get up?"

"No, no, just, we wanna look at your shoulder." Dean crawled onto the bed. Bobby was armed with microwaved boiled water, gauze, tweezers, hemostats and towels. "He's pretty strung out." he told Bobby. "Maybe he won't feel much when you go digging around in there."

"It doesn't even look that bad; he wasn't wearing a coat was he? It doesn't look like he was shot at close range, bullet didn't go deep."

"It's why I thought I'd be able to feel it." Dean settled himself so that he could bodily hold Sam down if he had to. As it was, he knelt on his knees at the top of the bed and laid a hand on Sam's right shoulder. Sam tilted his head back so he could look up to see what Dean was doing, eye's questioning. "Just hold still." Dean nodded to Bobby. "Go ahead."

At first, Sam laid still, ignoring Bobby, eyes on Dean, trying to figure out why Dean was in bed with him. He didn't start paying attention to what Bobby was doing until Bobby started digging with both tweezers and hemostats. He lifted his head from the mattress with a murmur of protest to peer down and see if his shoulder was on fire.

"Mmmmm." Sam couldn't move his left arm, he tried but stopped with such a hiss that Bobby jerked clumsily. Sam let out a yelp and pulled his knees up. "Ugh." he raised his right hand to push at Bobby but it was caught and held. His movements restricted, he raised his head to give Dean a look. "Don't." he tugged his hand but Dean didn't let go. "Lemme go." he slurred, tongue thick.

"You need to lay still." Dean squeezed his hand. "Bobby's almost done."

"But….it….hurts." he started to sit up but was held back. "Stop."

"Stay down." Dean watched Bobby toss the tweezers and use gauze to control the bleeding. "Bobby?" Sam tugged his hand free and reached up to grab hold of Dean's bicep. Dean let him, long as Sam didn't try to stop Bobby, he could bloody well hold on to whatever the hell he wanted to. His grip was tight and Dean glanced down with a wince. Sam was doing fairly well, all considering.

"Dean, I ain't finding no bullet." Bobby said tersely. "I've searched as deep as I can go without cutting him open around that wound. He's losing blood and it's too much, too fast, I gotta stop."

"He was shot Bobby! I know a bullet wound when I see one." Dean argued.

"I ain't saying he wasn't!" Bobby snapped right back. "I'm saying, there ain't no bullet in him."

"It didn't just fall out!" Dean rubbed his hand through his hair. "Are you sure?"

"See for yourself."

"How can there be no bullet? Bobby…."

"Dean, forget about the damn bullet, he's bleeding and we don't stop it soon, you'll be taking him back to the ER." Bobby was stunned over the amount of blood Sam was suddenly losing. He had both hands pressing a towel as firmly against the wound as he could manage. He stood up to get better leverage, leaning over Sam and causing him to stir uneasily.

"Dammit Sam, lay still. Dean, little help here."

But Sam felt crowded and needed space. He became aggressive, trying to either move away from Bobby or push Bobby away. Dean crawled down the bed and straddled Sam, sitting lightly on his brother's thighs and taking over for Bobby.

"Another towel?" Bobby had one folded. Sam was more content that it was Dean who he saw when he looked up and laid still. "It letting up any?"

"I dunno." he took the new towel with one hand, pressed it on top the first one and reapplied both hands to keep the pressure steady. "Guess not. What the hell? He didn't bleed like this when he was shot." Dean's arms were shaking with effort. "Bobby….he's just staring at me, think he's going into shock?"

"Might be…" Bobby tucked a blanket as best he could around Sam's right shoulder. "Should get his feet up, I'll get some ice, cold compresses might….."

"Screw it." Dean muttered a curse. Blood was seeping out from all sides of the towel. "Cas? Castiel? CAS!"

"No." Sam's right hand grabbed at Dean, catching his shirt and pulling tight. "Dean, no." he blinked. "I'm o…I'll be ok." he swallowed hard but his voice didn't clear. "Do whatever you have to; take me back to the hospital….."

"Sam, how the hell do I explain a gunshot? The police will be called, and then what? Huh?"

"Then stitch me yourself, or let Bobby do it." he was panting, fingers so slick with sweat he lost his grip.

"I can't give you blood." he knocked the fist Sam swung in frustration aside with his elbow. "Sam, you can't keep doing this. Hell, I can't keep doing this."

Sam opened his mouth to argue but the room was wavering, making him dizzy and his eyes rolled. He heard Dean calling to him but he couldn't find his way back to him. He was hot, oh so hot, and then he no longer heard his brother's voice.

"Fuck!" Dean held to the towel with one hand and held Sam's chin with the other. "Sammy, come on! Hey! Stay with me."

"Dean, he passed out." Bobby said quietly. "How's the bleeding?"

"Passed out from what? Loss of blood? Pain?"

"I can call 911." Bobby said calmly. "How far is the hospital?"

"Fifteen minutes. I dunno Bobby, maybe we should….." Dean bit his lip. " Bullet or no, it's still a gunshot wound, they will call the police."

" Cas?"

"I dunno if we dare wait, I mean, I waited for you to get here…"

"He wasn't bleeding then, we get it stopped, I think we'll be ok until Cas gets here. I'll try and control the bleeding, you stitch him up. Don't worry about trying to be neat; he can fuss about the scar later."

"That will hurt like a bitch." Dean reasoned in disgust.

"Stitch him up and give him a couple hours. If he's worse, then we take him in. Cas can get him out and we'll worry about the Feds being on your ass later."

"Yeah, ok." good thing they had strong pain meds. "Get what we need."

Three stitches later, Dean looked up to find Sam's eyes open and focused. He paused, thread drawn tight, reading the emotions he saw reflected in their hazel depths. Pain, weariness, resignation, but there was also, acceptance and determination. The unwavering gaze spoke of absolute trust, trust that Sam would lie quietly and accept whatever Dean did as being what needed to be done.

"Sorry Sammy." Dean said softly. "Just hang on a bit longer, ok?" he needed Sam to lay still on his own. Bobby was doing his best to keep the bleeding under control so Dean could see well enough to stitch. The bleeding had slowed but had yet to stop. Luckily, Sam was no stranger to the pain of stitches and was content to remain still. Only the occasional escaped hitch in breath or involuntary flinch told Dean when he hit a nerve or poked to deep or stabbed wrong with the needle.

"You done?" Bobby asked.

Dean cut the thread and eased off his knees. Stitched or not, that wound was going to give Sam pain. All they could do was pack the shoulder in ice, keep Sam warm, quiet and medicated. Dean would wait four hours, if Castiel hadn't responded by then; he would take Sam to the hospital. If Sam developed a fever before then, they would wait no longer


	3. Chapter 3

"Hello Dean." Dean flailed with a start; he hadn't seen or sensed Castiel's arrival. Bobby slept soundly on the other bed and Dean sat on the floor, back against Sam's bed.

"Cas." Dean raised his head, too stiff to move. A disheveled and rumpled Castiel stood before him, Dean's eyes widened. "You look like shit."

"Your parting words to me were you would only call for me in life or death situations. I came as quickly as I could."

"Sam's been shot." Dean wondered just what Cas had been in the middle of when he'd heard Dean's call. Obviously, whatever it had been, he hadn't been able to leave immediately and by the looks of him, he'd left there and come directly to Dean.

"Is he alright?" Castiel stepped closer to the bed. "Did you beat him up?" Cas looked up at. "Dean, he looks terrible."

"You think?" Dean bit out with heavy sarcasm. "So? Can you help?"

Castiel laid fingers on Sam's forehead. His touch was brief but Sam still felt it, reacted to it by turning his face towards Cas with a soft moan.

"Cas." Dean blinked in confusion. The swelling around the stitches in his shoulder was gone and the skin around them was no longer red and puffy, but the gunshot wound remained. The bruising along his forehead and his swollen nose remained. Dean eased a hand under Sam's head, feeling for the stitches. Giving Cas a dirty look, he got to his feet and gently took hold of Sam's arm. He un-wrapped the bandage to reveal the blistered burn. "Cas! What the hell! Heal him!"

"I did." Castiel insisted, looking bewildered. "I….did"

"WHAT? No, you didn't!" Dean got off the bed to stand face to face with the angel. "Look at him! What the hell Cas?"

"I don't know." Castiel's expression was stunned, he tried his healing touch a second time, then turned to Dean perplxed. "I cannot heal him."

"What the hell are you talking about? Why not?"

"Dean, I can't explain this." he tried a third time with no further results. He ducked his head. "I should be able…"

"Dean." Bobby grabbed his arm. "Dean, look, see his forehead? Where he hit his head when he fell? Look, that wound is gone. Those shoulder stitches look like you put them in weeks ago, the surrounding skin is healed but the wound itself remains."

Dean looked from Sam to Bobby, back to Sam and up at Castiel. He turned to pace, but his way was blocked by two beds and two men, neither of whom gave way to let him pass.

"Cas?" Bobby let the word hang like a question. "Um, you still have your powers, right? The ability to heal?"

"Yes. I'm not….not helping him Bobby."

"Can you think of any reason why you can't heal him? Or, rather, why you can't heal all his injuries?"

"All?" Castiel repeated. "How many does he have?"

"Several, all required since Tuesday." Bobby said more calmly then he felt. "The latest happened earlier tonight, he was shot outside. Strange thing is, there's no bullet, you can see the gunshot wound, but…."

"Those injuries should have healed." Castiel searched his extensive knowledge on all of creation and came up with nothing. He'd never before come across this particular situation.

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean demanded. He tried to follow what Cas was saying as he absorbed the fact there was no immediate help for his brother.

"It means, I do not know why I cannot help Sam." his hand flashed; he grabbed Dean's wrist and with a motion so fast neither Dean nor Bobby knew what he was doing, slit Dean's wrist with his angel blade so deep, blood spurted purple.

"Jesus CAS!" Bobby yelled. "You trying to kill him?" he grabbed a towel and made a lunge for Dean who stood staring at Castiel who had yet to let go.

Castiel gave Bobby a wounded look and with one touch, the wound was gone, and no trace of blood remained. "I wanted to prove to you I can still heal. I need you to believe me when I say I want to help Sam and I do not know why I can't." he let go of Dean. "I would never try to kill Dean Bobby."

"Find another way that don't gimme a heart attack." Bobby muttered. "Well, guess it's the ER then."

"If you give me a moment, I will seek answers from an angel with more knowledge."

"A you moment or an us moment?" Dean asked but Cas was gone and back before Dean could turn to Bobby and ask what they should do next. "So, a you moment then."

"Dean, I cannot heal Sam's injuries because they are not his." Castiel announced. "He has been marked and a connection was made that needs to be broken."

"A connection? What kind of connection?" Bobby asked. "A curse? A hex? A spell?"

"It is a creature known to my kind as a Spaige." Castiel said solemnly. "They aren't mortal and come from another realm. They have never before been known to walk earth. Their females can take human female form. She is here to mate and marks her next mate with a touch, once marked, a connection is made. Our guess is she marked Sam but when she tried to follow, she found him hidden from her. She moved on to her next mate, or victim, but the connection to Sam is still solid. Anything she does to incapacitate her mark will affect Sam."

"Come again? A what?" Bobby's face contorted as he searched his memory for lore or information on an entity he had never before heard of. "Never heard of anything even close in all my years Cas."

"I too, have never heard of this creature. I have much to learn before I can help Sam." Castiel spread his hands in a plea for patience and understanding. "I do not know how she got here, how to get rid of her, or how to break the connection. I am asking you to grant me the time I need to find out."

"And what are we supposed to do in the meantime?" Dean growled. "How much time?"

"Lose the tone Dean, I'm trying to help you." Castiel turned to Bobby. "I am not at fault here."

"We know Cas, but Sam is only getting worse, what if she kills her next mate? Does that mean Sam dies as well? If he does, can you bring him back?" Bobby spoke with a calmness he didn't feel.

"I do not yet know the answers to your questions. My colleague is researching as I stand here with you. He will call me as soon as he has answers."

"Then go help him." Bobby said tiredly. "Sam's holding his own. The pain meds are keeping him quiet, he'll be ok for a bit." he wasn't overly worried about Sam, it was Dean he was going to have his hands full with.

"I will return." Castiel gave Dean a lingering look and was gone.

"Let's clean up, then you get some sleep 'til Cas returns. I'll watch Sam." Bobby's tone brooked not argument.

***000***

It was over three hours before Castiel returned with more information. Bobby had dozed off on the sofa and Dean slept uneasily on his bed next to Sam's.

"I have all the information we need." Castiel announced. "We must find her and break the connection."

"You already said that!" Dean groused, slowly waking up. "And that better not be all you got."

"So, how do we break the connection? How do we find who she is? Do we have to find every man she has hurt in order to help Sam?" Bobby sat down next to Dean on his bed, feeling every one of his years in age. Why the brothers? Why did trouble, trouble that could find anyone on earth, always manage to find his boys? They'd been at a movie, not hunting, not searching, not actively involved in any case and yet here they were, once again victims of some cruel fate that simply refused to leave them alone.

"We kill her and the connection will be broken or she mates with Sam and the connection will be broken. I will search for her and try my utmost to eliminate her."

"Does she kill her, um, mate?" Bobby asked warily, eyes coming to rest on Dean who sat with his back against the headboard, hugging his drawn knees. "And why human males?"

"He may die from his injuries."

"What the fuck?" Dean scowled, still sleepy-eyed. "So she marks her victim, why?"

"To mate."

"I ask again, why is she mating with human males?" Bobby asked wearily. "And like, how does she do it? Please tell me she didn't have the opportunity to mate with Sam and there may be spaige/Sam spawn out there."

"She mates like any other female. He probably turned her down and she meant to pursue him but couldn't. We don't know how she got here but we are assuming she needs to reproduce and needs a male to do it. What we don't know is why she chose human males."

"Well, Christ, how many mates does she need?" Bobby asked incredulously. "And when she does mate? Then what?"

"Until she finds the perfect one." Cas replied. "And we don't know. I can't heal him of any injury she inflicts on another mark as long as she lives. Even when the connection is broken, there is no guarantee I can heal any of the injuries."

"Oh! Come! On!" Dean growled. "Are you fucking kidding me? I have to hunt down some she-bitch and either kill her or let her have sex with Sam, hope she doesn't kill him and pray you can heal him? Seriously? Why us? I mean, come on! When does shit like this stop? We were on vacation Cas! We went to the movies for Christ Sake! How the _hell_ did we get mixed up with some whore in heat from another realm you've never heard of?"

"What happens if whoever received the actual injury that Sam suffers….dies?" Bobby moved over to sit next to Sam, fingering his hair out of his eyes to peer closely at the healed cut over his eye. Some bruising remained across his brow, mostly from his nose. He tried to determine if the amount of blood Sam had lost had been too much. He was pale, pasty really, and his breathing was shallow. prompting Bobby to feel for a pulse.

"I don't know." Castiel admitted. "I am fairly certain once that she is dead I will be able to heal Sam."

"Fairly? Huh." Bobby grunted. "How soon? To find and kill her? I'm guessing a hospital won't do him much good. He can receive a transfusion but if she strikes again at another mark then…"

"I believe she will come if she knows where to find him."

"Can you kill her?" Bobby asked. "I don't recommend we wait long Cas, another injury and this boy is gonna need blood. Either we get him to a hospital or….." he paused. "And I don't even want to consider what could happen to him next."

"I cannot smite her, she is immune to me. She is not out to kill her marks, she simply wants to mate with them and if they aren't willing, she….subdues them." Castiel turned to Dean. "Do you have any idea where Sam may have met her? She would look like any human female and would have needed the opportunity to touch him."

"We were here in town Tuesday night and that is when everything started. We were at the movies but I never saw Sam with any woman. He did go for popcorn, so maybe in line at the counter?"

"Then she is still here. She's still connected to Sam and is probably confused why she can't find him."

"And she can't why?" Bobby prodded.

"The Enochian symbols."

"Okay, how do we kill her?" Dean asked. Castiel was silent for several seconds, as if searching for the answer in his mind or waiting for someone to send it to him.

"Easily." he announced, voice laced with relief. "Wooden stake through the heart and she will turn to dust like a vampire in your movies."

"Easily." Dean repeated with a wry laugh. "Sure, and let me guess, she's strong and fast and possesses strength superior to the human male. And if she touches me, I could be marked as her next victim, great, just freaking great. I suppose not just any wood will do either, has to be some special nearly extinct tree from the depths of some jungle that is in danger from the environment. I mean, really, Cas, who comes up with this shit?"

"You are discouraged." Castiel observed. "I am sorry."

"The wood stake Cas, where do I get one?" Dean bit out.

"Pine tree, any pine wood will do. I shall go and see if there is any way for me to track her. I will return and I will bring a pine stake with me when I do."

"Better bring more than one." Bobby advised. "And if you can't find a way to locate her?"

"Then we use Sam as bait. I will remove the symbols and she will come directly to where he is."

Dean thumped his head against the wall. What had seemed like a simple solution to the problem suddenly didn't sound so simple any more. He sure as hell didn't feel strong enough, physically or emotionally to fight some creature with strength superior to his own. Why, for once, couldn't the solution be as simple as Cas being able to find the bitch all on his own and smiting her?

"And you believe killing her will break this psychic connection to Sam? Then either you'll be able to heal him, or treatment by a doctor will." Bobby was saying.

"That is the assumption, yes." and Cas was gone. Dean let himself slump to his side and pulled the blanket over his head.

***000***

Sam stirred, hearing distant and distorted voices but unable to discern whose they were. He shifted his weight off his left shoulder, starting to ease on to his right side, stopping when he bumped against something unyielding.

"Sam?" not Dean's voice. "Sam? You with us?" someone was sitting on his bed.

"Sammy?" he heard movement, the bed dipped on the other side and a hand reached out to lay a cold compress on his shoulder. Huh, his whole arm ached, oh, the burn still throbbed and the back of his shoulder still hurt, but now his chest hurt down to his armpit. Since when did armpits hurt? How was that even possible? He cracked one eye open to blink the familiar setting of a motel room into focus.

Right, the hospital, the pharmacy, checking into a hotel rather than driving back to the cabin and apparently, he was he in bed with both Dean and Bobby? When had Bobby gotten here? Why?

Great, another reason for Dean to be pissed, yet another thing to yell at him about. As if getting sick, passing out, hurting his back and shoulder and burning his arm and nearly breaking his nose and cracking the back of his head open and needing stitches and pissing and puking blood were things he'd done on purpose. He certainly hadn't shot himself. No way could Dean find a way to blame him for that.

"Mmmm…." he licked at dry lips, craving moisture. "Dean?" he looked up at Bobby. "Hey Bobby."

"Good to see you boy." Bobby greeted gruffly. "How you doing?"

"Not so good. Dean, my chest hurts…."

"Yeah, gunshot."

"Oh, so that did happen. Great." he wanted something to drink. "Um, any coke?"

"Coke? Not ginger ale? Course not." Dean sighed. "I'll have to go get it."

"I got it." Bobby said. "Dean, you want anything? You really should eat something."

"Time is it?" Sam asked rubbing his eyes tiredly with his right hand, the only arm that would obey his commands. Damn, but he didn't feel good. He wasn't in any extreme pain, but it was underlying, promising to blow up in his face, but for the time being it was manageable.

"Dunno." Dean shrugged. "Late."

"Dawn." Bobby corrected. "Don't suppose you're hungry Sam?"

"No." he grimaced. He was thirsty. "Just…a coke…please?"

"I'm goin'." Bobby got to his feet and felt for a fever. "Want you to take a couple Tylenol with your coke, ok?"

"Um-hum." whatever, he didn't care.

Bobby returned with a bottle of coke from the vending machine then left the brothers alone to venture out and find breakfast. Once he'd left for the second time, Dean helped Sam sit up so he could drink the coke on his own.

"Cas was here." Dean said. "Do you recall meeting a woman Tuesday? Maybe at the movie theatre?"

"No." he shook his head. "Wait…maybe. I….there was a girl in line….I was getting you popcorn. She was kinda forward, but…no." he shook his head. "It was nothing."

"This is our life Sam, when is nothing ever nothing?"

"Huh." his head was too heavy to hold up, his eyes didn't want to stay open and it was just too much effort to carry on a conversation he wouldn't remember anyway. "So….it bad?"

"Nothing we can't handle. Cas is out trying to find her now."

"And you aren't with him, why?"

"I'm going soon as he finds her. I need to get some sleep first."

"Dean." his hand shook and Dean rescued the glass before he could drop it.

"Yeah….okay…get some sleep." Dean sighed as Sam's hand groped for the trash can. "Or not."

When Bobby returned an hour later, Sam was on his stomach hanging off the side of the bed, alternating between bouts of dry heaving and spitting up blood. Dean sat beside him, Sam's left arm stretched out across his lap. Dean looked up when Bobby came through the door, eyes shot with red-webs.

"How long?" Bobby asked setting the bags on the dresser.

"Hour or so."

"Any word from Cas?"

"No." he stretched, wincing as his back cracked. "Shit."

"You get any sleep?"

"Got enough."

"He still running a fever? Guessing he didn't keep the Tylenol down."

"He's warm. Cramping a bit, nothing to severe yet."

"Do you want me to go with Cas?"

"Fight some other world creature an angel can't kill?" Dean picked up Sam's hand. "Look at his fingers, they're all swollen, off-colored, infection is setting in, in his arm." he blinked, eyes burned dry with fatigue. "Only way to help him is to kill her."

"Can bring the fight to us." Bobby offered, no more waiting to use Sam as bait than Dean did.

"And if we can't stop her?"

"We will." Castiel was behind Bobby, three wood stakes in his hands. "I've found her." he handed Bobby a stake. "Just in case she somehow finds him here."

"Cas, take care of him." Bobby told the angel. "And hurry your ass back here, Sam ain't doing so good."

Dean eased away from Sam. "Bobby…."

"I won't leave him." Bobby promised. "He'll be fine Dean, go take care of her."

"This'll teach me to take a vacation." Dean pulled on his boots, then his jacket and took a stake from Castiel. "Ok Cas, let's go."

***000***

If Bobby had ever learned anything in his life, it was that he did not have the same way with Sam that Dean did. He'd first met the boys as kids, Sam young enough to still be sucking his thumb. He'd met John first, had befriended the man without even knowing he had two young sons he dragged all across the country with him. He'd accepted John into his life, telling himself it was because the two men shared the grief of losing their wives to the evil world of the unnatural.

But Bobby knew better, it was the two pairs of eyes that lit up when they saw him and ran to him for hugs as soon as the car came to a stop. It was the two energetic boys that ran pell-mell through his house and chased one another across his salvage yard, laughing with unrestrained glee. It was their contentment to remain with him when their father dropped them off and left without saying how long he'd be gone.

It was the fact Dean would sleep through the night while at his house and Sam claimed the lowest shelf on the bookcase as his own. He'd come to know them as well as their own father had: Dean loved beef, Sam preferred chicken. Dean wanted vanilla ice cream and Sam chose chocolate. Dean would rather watch a movie and Sam would rather read a book. Dean tolerated school, Sam loved it. If Bobby wanted Sam to do something, all he had to do was get Dean to do it first. If there was ever only one of something, both offered to share with the other. The list went on, Bobby learned their likes and dislikes, the differences between the two, the similarities they shared.

On the rare occasion one or the other had been ill enough medical treatment had been needed, John had either stayed with them or sent them to stay with Bobby or Pastor Jim. There'd been tonsillitis with Sam and mono with Dean, both had had strep, chicken pox, measles, the flu and various colds. Once or twice, pneumonia had been a scare with them both but had been averted, much to the relief of them all.

There'd been times when John had left the boys with a babysitter and Bobby had never quite felt comfortable about that. Leaving them alone with what basically amounted to a stranger was neither a safe nor wise thing to do. Bobby himself had put a stop to that the night he'd gotten a phone call from a hysterical Sam. Bobby had ended up driving an entire day to retrieve them, had ended up in a fist fight upon arrival and had to flee before the police were called. His second fist fight had been with John. Bobby would rather the boys be alone in a motel then with someone they couldn't trust or get away from. Bobby would do anything for them, would kill for them, would die for them.

And now, here he stood, cursing as he stood next to the bed and stared at Sam with disgruntled annoyance. When Dean had been with him, he'd lain on his stomach and vomited into the trash can. But not now, oh hell no, now he squirmed and rolled and twisted and curled up, as if trying to find a position that was comfortable. Granted, Sam hadn't been battling what Bobby guessed to be a 103 degree fever while Dean had been there but even so, nothing Bobby did or said seemed to get through to him.

Sam didn't want to drink, wouldn't take medicine, and refused to lay still. The moment Bobby moved from the bed, Sam was sitting up and pushing the blankets off his legs. He obeyed obediently enough when Bobby shushed him and guided him down onto his back, relaxing under the firm hold and sinking into the comforting depths of the mattress but minutes later, he began muttering he had to find Dean and help him; nothing Bobby said convinced him to stay in bed and let Castiel watch Dean's back.

Bobby tried getting him to swallow Tylenol, staying away from the pain meds since he tended to promptly throw up whatever he swallowed, but Sam pressed his lips together and turned his face away. Other than a sip or two of coke, Bobby failed to get Sam to swallow anything. Dehydration was a strong concern and while Bobby certainly knew what to do to prevent it, he wasn't successful convincing Sam to see things his way. Keeping the kid in bed while his mind was on a one track mission to get to his brother was hard enough without having to deal with cramps in addition to the pain and probable delirium.

"Sam, enough." Bobby pushed him back down, having to use considerably more force this time. "I don't even know where Dean is, you'll never find him." he was careful not to grab or jar the kid's injured arm. All he needed was to drive him into unrelenting bouts of heaving from the pain that would cause. "Now. Stop. It."

"You…shudda…went.. with…him." Sam swallowed hard, biting his tongue to keep from groaning, god, but he did not feel good. "You…let…..him….go…alone." despite the pain, the weariness, the fog and the fever, he still managed to make the statement sound like an accusation. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly his forehead was furrowed.

"No, no Sam, I didn't. He's with Cas." he was worried about Dean as well. The man was an emotional wreck who was in no condition to fight a creature an angel couldn't kill. Bobby wondered if the Spaige managed to inflict any kind of injury on Dean if Cas would be able to help him. They were going on the assumption he could heal Sam once she was dead but there were no guarantees that he could. "I need you to drink for me, okay? Got you some juice, wanna try that?"

"No." he plopped his head down onto the pillow, laying the back of his arm over his eyes.

"Work with me Sam." Bobby pleaded. "I ain't taking no for an answer, juice or water or coke, gonna be something." he paused. "Cas will bring him back and when he does there is a possibility he might not be ok. He doesn't need to get back and find you're worse. He doesn't need that Sam. All I'm asking you to do is drink."

Sam gave a slight shake of his head but when Bobby put a glass to his lips, he raised his head slightly enough to take the straw between his teeth. The soda was warm and he made a face, he preferred it cold and had Dean been there, it would have been.

"Okay, good, that's it, don't gotta drink a lot, sips are ok, just gonna be often then. We get you keeping liquids down, we can try Tylenol, get to work on that fever."

"I…..I'm not…really….thirsty." Sam winced. Might be stress, might be the fever, might be a reaction to pain, he might be dehydrated, whatever, but he had one hell of a headache. "Bob..by?"

"Yeah, Sam, what is it?" Tylenol, in Bobby's opinion was the best over the counter medication to bring down a fever but he couldn't get Sam to take any. Sam would glance at the two white pills in his palm, curl his lip in distaste and turn away.

"My head hurts." he massaged his forehead, eyes closed.

"Yeah, bet it does. You're running a fever, if you'd take something for it and drink some more, might help ease it, ok? Then you can try and get some sleep." Bobby held Tylenol in his palm once again.

"They're…white." Sam mumbled, blinking.

"So?" Bobby didn't understand. "No, huh? Okay….we'll do it your way, but…gonna be a long day kid."

***000***

Sam remained restless, asking Bobby every ten minutes; what time was it, had Dean called, could they go look for him, where was he, when would he be back and so on until Bobby's teeth ached and his hair hurt. The day dragged on and it was after midnight when Castiel finally appeared with Dean. Sam slept through their arrival, exhaustion had won the battle and he didn't stir when Cas dumped Dean to collapse on his bed with a grunt.

"Well?" Bobby demanded. "Success?"

"She is dead." Castiel announced leaving Dean and going over to Sam.

"At what cost?" Bobby didn't get up, Dean appeared to be in one piece if somewhat bruised and currently doubled up on the bed.

"Dean will be fine." Castiel said. "I would have to find the actual people who received the injuries to heal Sam but I can stop the infection from spreading and he will lose no more blood. His pain and discomfort will lessen and he will fully recover. You will need to make the decision whether or not to take him to the hospital if you feel he requires more. I must go. I need to find out who brought her here and why." and he was gone.

"Dean?" Bobby questioned. "You ok?"

"Just..need…a…night." he gulped. "Bitch fought dirty. He give you any problems?" his voice was weak, his words slow, spoken with obvious effort.

"I ain't never volunteering to baby-sit him again." Bobby grumbled. "Won't stay in bed, won't shut up, won't eat, doesn't want water or juice or coke or Tylenol. I figured the fever was a result of an infection, so started him on the antibiotics. So far, he's doing ok."

"Wait 'til tomorrow, might be better to back off the pain meds." he groaned, rolling over to curl up on his side. "Pain meds and antibiotics...not a good combo...for him."

"Dean?" Sam responded to the familiar grunt of pain, easing up on his elbow to look over at the other bed and echo Bobby's earlier question. "You ok?"

"Fine." came the muffled reply. "Long as you aren't looking to be an uncle anytime soon, I'm good."

Bobby decided that was an issue he could well leave alone. Dean needed sleep and come morning, he'd be fine. Bobby wanted Dean to talk about the fight and explain what had happened but Dean didn't even stir to undress or tend the few cuts he sported on his arm, neck and cheek. Bobby approached the bed with the intention of seeing if the bleeding cuts were superficial or serious but he was snarled at so he backed away. A man in that kind of pain was best left alone.

"Okay, ok, I'll leave you alone, but Dean, about Sam…"

"Just give him ibuprofen or aspirin." Dean muttered. "He…doesn't…..really…like Tylenol…ugh….god damn."

"Since when?" Bobby muttered to himself, kid always took Tylenol before without a fuss. "Dean, he's not drinking enough, ok, yeah, he hasn't cramped up so you could say he's not dehydrating but his pulse is weak and fast, he lost a lot of blood and Cas didn't replace it…"

"He'll…drink…iffin..it's…cold." Dean fisted the sheets in his hands, stretching out slightly.

"That's not his only problem."

"The same problem…remains." Dean carefully rolled onto his stomach, gained his hand and knees, then sat back on his heels. "How the hell do I explain a gunshot? Not like we can hide it. They will find it Bobby, they aren't just going to give him a transfusion without a complete examination first to find out why he needs it."

"If you don't…" Bobby took a second look at Dean's haggard appearance. "So, what then? Stay here until he can travel? Then go back to my place? Get him blood, he'll be up and around in a week or so, you don't, then plan on him being down for a month or better."

"Better down then in jail." he went head first into the pillow, teetered for a second, then went down on his side. He stifled the urge to clasp his hands between his legs, it was an instinctive reaction and would do no good. "You, uh, think we should take him in?"

"I think it's the wise thing to do, I guess….I dunno….how much more you wanna put him through? And how long you willing to do it?" Bobby sighed, Dean wasn't paying him any attention.

Dean didn't want to get up, hell, he didn't want to move but if Bobby thought it best Sam go to the ER, then he'd wrestle his stomach back into its proper place, choke down the bile that would push up his throat were he to be vertical and spend the night being verbally berated by the doctor and pray for Cas to return before the authorities arrested either of them.

He waited to hear the words, 'let's go' or 'get up', waited for Bobby to take him by the shoulder and shake him. He lay curled into a tight ball on his side, feeling sick from the fight that had kicked his ass and from the rapid way Cas traveled. She hadn't been easy to take down and he had more than one painful bruise to show for it. He just needed a few minutes to regroup, surely Bobby could give him that much, it couldn't be too much to ask for.

"No." Sam struggled to sit up, slapping Bobby away when he moved to help. "I'm…ok…I'll be ok…" he wanted to hold his head but he couldn't raise his left arm without crying and he needed his right arm to support his weight as he gained an upright position. He finally collapsed with his back against the headboard, wiping the sweat from his lip. "Bobby, no…I'm ok here….no need to go anywhere."

"Now Sam…" Bobby began. "You don't want Tylenol, fine, you don't have to take it. Guess it's either aspirin or ibuprofen and kid, let me tell you, with the amount of blood you've lost and the blood you're still pissing, you shouldn't be taking no aspirin."

"I don't care about Tylenol." Sam whispered, palm splayed across his forehead. "Don't take me in, do what you have to, tell me what I need to do, I'll take the stupid Tylenol if that's what you want, but Bobby don't make me put him through that." he pulled his knees up to support his left arm. "I don't want to do that to him."

"Sam, you ain't doin' so good, you can't possibly feel anywhere near ok."

"Bobby, just… let me do this for him, okay? Please? Don't make me do that to him, I'll get through this, I will. He always puts me first and….and….this is something I can do for him, so you gotta let me, okay? Please? Let me be the one to suffer this time. He always does, always has for me, and…not this time, okay?" his eyes bled emotion and begged for understanding. "Let me do this for him."

"Damn you Sam." Bobby muttered, pulling his hat off and running a hand through his hair in defeat. "It's not ok, you're not ok. You're too damn stubborn for your own good. Nothing good will come of you sacrificing yourself for his benefit. It never does." he put his hat back on. "And don't be lookin' at me like that either." he stole a sideways glance at Dean. "Crap! Ok, fine, fine, we'll do it your way, you ain't gonna like it, but fine, you listen to me, you do as I say, you suck it up and you deal with it, you hearin' me? If at any time you take a dive, or I feel you ain't doing better, like you should be doin', it's straight to the nearest ER, you got me?"

"Yes." he whispered, glancing over at Dean. Sam wasn't kidding himself, he knew the next month or so wasn't going to be easy but it would be better than Dean worrying about the possibility of the feds once again being on their ass. "Soon as he's ready, we'll go to your house."

"Sure." Bobby snorted. "Soon as he's ready, yeah right, kid. He'll be up and around come morning, you're gonna be the reason we stay here another couple days. Look he's out, he ain't moving 'til he wants breakfast, so get some sleep. We'll make plans tomorrow."

"Thanks Bobby." Sam felt better about his decision but couldn't help but wonder if it was the right one. Dean probably wouldn't agree if he found out Sam was going the self-sacrifice route for his benefit so Sam would just have to make certain Dean never found out. "Bobby, don't...don't tell him, he won't agree, you know he won't."

"Don't you worry none about it. Now take these and lay down. I'll handle him."

The pills Bobby held out were orange, but even had they been white, Sam would have taken them. Refusing the first thing Bobby asked him to do wouldn't go very far in convincing Bobby he'd be true to his word and obey him.

"You sure he's ok? I mean, no injuries…?"

"None serious."

Sam swallowed the ibuprofen and laid down. He would get through this. The threat was gone, Bobby was with them, Cas was a prayer away and they'd dealt with worse. Soon as Dean suggested leaving and going back to Bobby's, Sam would grit his teeth, pop pain meds and go without comment. Dean had enough to deal with, Sam would be damned if he were the cause of adding anything more.

Dean heard Sam and Bobby talking, could tell by the timbre of Sam's voice he was pleading with Bobby to get his way. That couldn't be a good thing, it meant whatever Sam wanted, Dean wouldn't agree with. He considered forcing himself to rouse and confront whatever was going on but the need to take one night for himself coupled with his trust in Bobby had him submitting to exhaustion. He decided moving wasn't worth the effort he was sure it would require.

Bobby laid down on the sofa and counted the ways he labeled himself a damn fool. Sam needed a hospital. It was all fine and dandy that the infection wouldn't spread or get worse but he had no idea what the infection resulted from. The burn or the gunshot? Did it matter? And just because Cas had said he had stopped the spread of the infection didn't mean the infection couldn't get worse. The fever was reason for concern, it meant confusion and dehydration and Sam wasn't exactly being a cooperative, obedient patient.

The pain meds and antibiotics had been prescribed before the gunshot and additional blood loss. There was no way to know without seeing a doctor if they were still beneficial to him or had been rendered useless. And the loss of blood? The fact he was still at risk to lose more? He could easily pop the hastily set stitches in his shoulder and he still had stitches in the back of his head. They still didn't know for sure the blood he had vomited was a result of the unexplained nosebleed. The doctor had told Dean his best guess the blood in the urine was a result of several blows to the kidneys and should clear up on its own. Sam hadn't wanted further testing and Dean had listened to him rather than the doctor.

Dean would be on his feet come dawn and Bobby would have a fight on his hands. Dean would see that Sam was worse and find out he had talked Bobby out of going to the ER. He would insist on taking him in, Sam would refuse, plead silently with Bobby to back him up and Dean would once again be in the middle.

Bobyy sighed and swigged from his bottle.

If Dean ever so much as began to utter the first syllable of the word 'vacation' again, Bobby would knock him out. The brothers got into less trouble when they were actually hunting! He dozed off for awhile, waking when he heard movement from across the room. He knew instantly who it was, wondered if parents had the same intuition when one of their kids was sick or hurt. He didn't get up right away, waiting to see if Sam would settle down on his own or if Dean would hear him and get up. Sam knew Dean was back, knew he was asleep on the bed next to his own, knew he was ok so his prior determination to get up and go find his brother couldn't be his problem now.

"Sam?" Bobby questioned sleepily. "No." he sat up even as he spoke. "Go back to sleep." he found his cell to look at the time. Nearly 5 a.m., almost dawn.

Sam stirred uneasily, willing his stomach to settle as warmth flushed through his body, making him dizzy while lying flat on his back with his eyes closed. Why could he not just find a comfortable position where one part or another of his bruised body didn't hurt? If only he could wish the left side of his body away or at least his left arm and shoulder. He heard Bobby call to him and somewhere in his befuddled mind, he knew all was suppose to be good.

But it wasn't, he wasn't.

He must be running a fever, he was hot and raised a hand to push his hair off his forehead but his fingers were slick and his palm wet and his hand slid from his face, falling to lay on the pillow next to his aching head. God his head hurt, it hurt and ibuprofen wasn't touching it. No position was comfortable, none offered him any respite, the pillow was too high, the mattress too hard, the blankets too confining. He was hot and he was dizzy and he felt sick and _he was hot._ His arm, his head, his shoulder, his back, his nose, and aww hell! He sniffed in a shaky breath, catching the whimper.

"Sam?" Bobby called again. "Settle down. You're ok." with the amount of pain Sam was in, Bobby questioned Dean's decision to back off the pain meds, but as well as Bobby knew Sam, Dean knew him better. Perhaps Sam was able to handle pain on his own but couldn't fight infection. Maybe Dean knew which medication affected Sam the worst.

Sam wasn't settling down, his restlessness increased and he was fighting the blankets. His breathing was labored with an occasional moan or sound of distress that told Bobby his hopes of Sam settling down on his own were not going to be granted. He got up, turning on the desk light.

"I've got him." Dean said tiredly. Bobby hadn't heard or seen him get up, but there he was, sitting on Sam's bed, backs of his hands rubbing his eyes. "Man Sam, what the hell is it with you and dawn?" he yawned, five hours of sleep hadn't been enough. His body ached, a result of sleeping in a tense ball. He'd yet to relax or ease the tension from his coiled muscles, hopefully a hot shower would solve that problem. "Sam? Hey."

Sam attempted to find reality, to find the here and now and force his attention to grasp what should be obvious to him. His eyes opened, glassy and wide, found Dean and squinted.

"Who're you?" he slurred with a quizzical frown. He didn't feel alarmed, knew he should recognize the man sitting on his bed yet couldn't place him. Wasn't his dad, didn't think it was anyone he knew, didn't think he'd ever seen him before.

"Dean." Dean said, one eyebrow arching. "You're brother." sure, he hadn't shaved in a couple days, and his hair was swept several opposite ways but even so, he should be recognizable to his own brother.

"Huh." Sam let his eyes close. Didn't look like the brother he knew, didn't sound like him either but his instincts were not warning him of danger. He felt safe and unafraid and if this man said he was Dean, then Sam was ok with that. "Weird."

"Jesus Bobby, how high's his fever?" Dean demanded, turning to look over his shoulder at Bobby.

"Hell if I know, didn't come packing a thermometer you ass." Bobby sat down on Dean's bed. "Since when doesn't he take Tylenol? Mighta mentioned that before you left him with me. I couldn't get him to take anything until you got back so the fever had practically all day yesterday to take hold."

"Oh, yeah, Tylenol." Dean cracked his jaw. He could really use some coffee. "Dunno, been a couple years, just go with ibuprofen." he looked down as Sam's hand landed in his lap, fingers grasping the denim near his knee. "What the…."

"Dean?" Sam was shaking. "I…don't….feel…good."

"What the hell are you doing? Jesus Sam, move over." Dean had yet to gather himself, still shaking off the effects of the previous nights fight. He needed a hot shower, pot of coffee, maybe something to eat and a few moments to tend the stinging cuts on his neck and cheek.

"Dean." Bobby's calm voice called Dean's attention to him. "Fever. God knows what's going through his mind, have some patience."

"I need coffee, some aspirin…" Dean could feel Sam trembling against his hip. "He's burning up."

"Yeah, about that, how you doin? We get him settled, and you can take a shower while I go get us some breakfast." Bobby turned to Sam. "Gotta get him to take….. hell, I hate giving him so much ibuprofen, but if it's what he'll take..….." Bobby paused. "You pulling him off the pain meds? Antibiotics might help with the fever. Course, the doctor prescribed both before the gunshot, don't know if either will help him much now."

"Aspirin." Dean reached to take hold of Sam's left arm. The fingers were still swollen and tinged purple and Sam didn't much like having his arm touched. He pulled away from Dean with a whine.

"For you?" Bobby questioned.

"Did you just whine?" Dean stared down at his brother. "Sam, really, I…."

"Get him to take these, and no aspirin, kid's bled out enough…." Bobby handed Dean the pills with a cold glass of ginger ale he'd taken from the fridge. "You can have aspirin if you want it though."

"Sam, hey, hi…..you with me? Take these ok?"

Sam lifted his head, prepared to take whatever Dean wanted him to take until he saw the liquid in the glass. He made a face and turned away.

"Now what?" Dean asked with a sigh. He'd be in a much more patient mood to deal with Sam after he'd showered and eaten. "Sam, come on!"

"It's cold." Bobby said quickly. "Took it right outta the fridge."

"Can't…I…have the purple?"

"What?" Dean asked stupidly. "Purple what? Sam, you…"

"Purple juice, it's grape….tastes better."

Dean's jaw dropped, he may be tired, may feel wiped out from lack of sleep and may be still be feeling the effects of a night spent curled up in a tense ball of discomfort, but there was certainly nothing wrong with his memory. Sam had stopped drinking grape flavored juices when he'd been seven. He'd had the measles and had been sick for over a week. All he had wanted was grape kool-aid, grape popsicles and grape flavor-ice. He'd ended up making himself sick on everything grape and hadn't been able to stomach the flavor since. Dean also remembered how sick Sam had been. John had stayed with them and when they'd been that young and within a matters of days, Sam had passed the contagious illness to Dean. Saddled with two sick kids, one of whom only wanted his brother who was no longer able to amuse him, John had headed straight to Bobby's.

"Dean." Bobby said slowly. "How old was he when he stopped drinking anything grape?"

"Seven, when he had the measles."

"Seven, when he wouldn't let you out of his sight. I gotta tell you, he wasn't happy you were gone last night either."

"Yeah." he rolled his shoulders, resigned to the fact he would have to see to Sam before he could tend to his own wants. "Okay, ok Sam, you win, take these pills and I'll go get you some grape kool-aid, deal?"

Sam's look plainly told Dean what he thought about that idea, but he eased up on one elbow and held his left hand out for the pills. He stared at his fingers in confusion, raising his head to ask Dean with his eyes what was wrong with his hand.

"Um, yeah, you….here, just take these, you're ok." Dean coaxed Sam's attention from his hand and popped the pills into his mouth when he parted his lips to take them. "Small sips, that's it… tastes pretty good huh?"

"No." Sam pulled away and flopped down onto his back. "We leaving?"

"No, you can sleep." Dean glanced up at Bobby who approached the bed to lay a palm against Sam's forehead.

"Yeah, I'd say he's running a fever."

"Hey Bobby." Sam let his eyes flicker open and flutter closed.

"Hey kid, get some sleep. Dean, how you feeling?"

"Shower, coffee, breakfast, that order."

"Been thinking maybe you outta call that doctor that treated him earlier, say the antibiotics don't seem to be working, maybe get something stronger. You ain't gotta tell him Sam was shot."

"Or I could just suck it up and take him in. Ok, fine, let me shower, get something to eat and then I'll call the hospital, see what they say."

"What do you want? I'll go out and get it, omelet?"

"Guess, large coffee."

"Gonna feed him?"

"Not now."

***000***

Dean went to take his shower and Bobby left to get breakfast. Not even water as hot as he could stand it eased all the tension. All Dean had wanted was a week to himself. Now, Sam was down, they'd be at Bobby's where there'd be no avoiding the next threat to the world that loomed on the horizon and though he admitted it only to himself, Dean was wiped out.

He didn't hurry in the bathroom, in fact, he tarried. He expected Sam to be asleep when he finally emerged from the bathroom, thought Bobby would have returned but Sam was alone, his eyes open and focused. That could only mean the pain meds Bobby had given him were working to dull the pain but weren't strong enough to knock him out, Sam was able to fight their pull and Dean wasn't happy about that..

"Hey, thought you'd be asleep." Dean draped the towel he'd used to dry his hair around his neck. He'd call the hospital soon as Bobby returned and ask for some stronger pain meds. "Stop fighting the meds Sam."

"You ok?" Sam asked quietly, the pain meds had kicked in but he'd pushed aside his own misery to focus however briefly on Dean. He knew he wouldn't be awake long, it had taken a lot of strength and determination to fight his way awake. He blamed the fever.

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'm sorry." he pushed his hair off his forehead, he tried moving his left arm but found he couldn't. "Mmmm."

"For what?" Dean didn't like Sam hissing over moving his arm, and made a mental note to ask the doctor if ice would in anyway help ease some of the pain and swelling.

"This, all this, ruining your trip, causing all this trouble, making Bobby drive all the way out here….just….."

"How is any of this your fault? Someone brought that bitch here, whether she chose you at random or had you in her sights doesn't matter, she never should have been here."

"But you…."

"Sammy…come on…..you think I somehow blame you?"

"I'm the one who…"

"What? Who what? It's over, she's dead. Soon as you can travel, we'll go to Bobby's and don't give me any shit about going to a hospital. If you need a doctor, I'll take you to one, you got that? I'll find a way to deal with it."

"I don't need….."

"You might, we'll see how you feel when you try to get up, blood loss, fever and dehydration is a lot to overcome and let's face it, you didn't have a good week."

"Sorry, don't mean to be a pain in the ass."

"Just try to be a better patient for Bobby, ok? Can you do that much? Drove the poor guy nuts yesterday." what the hell was keeping Bobby anyway? They wouldn't be going anywhere for at least a week which meant they would need more money then Dean had. Paying cash for the prescriptions kept suspicions down but were expensive and it looked like Sam would be needing more.

"K." his moment of lucidity gone, his eyes closed and Dean went to get dressed.

If the Spaige was the beginning of what was to come, they needed to be prepared, Dean doubted he would have been able to kill her without Cas's help. He'd never faced anything like it before and it was fast becoming obvious, the days of hunting solo were over. He'd taken great satisfaction ending the life of the creature who had inflicted such pain on his brother. No one and nothing did that and lived to tell the tale. Not ever. He needed Sam back on his feet so they could face whatever waited out there in the coming fight together, cause all they ever really had to rely on was each other.


End file.
